THE  TWINS  OF 
SUFFERING  CREEK 


RIDGWELL   CULLUM 


THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


THE  ONE-WAY  TRAIL 
THE  TRAIL  OF   THE   AXE 
THE   SHERIFF   OF   DYKE   HOLE 
THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS 


V 


"Say— Jessie,"  he  breathed  hotly,  "you're— you're  fine  !" 


THE    TWINS    OF 
SUFFERING   CREEK 


BY 

RIDGWELL    CULLUM 

AUTHOR    OF 
THE  ONE-WAY  TRAIL,"   "  THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  PLAINS,"  ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  CO, 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1912,  BY 
GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 


TO 

MY  TWO  LITTLE  CHUMS 

CHRIS  AND  RIDGE 

THIS  BOOK 
IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


R18063 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    POTTER'S  CLAY 9 

II    THE  HARVEST  OF  PASSION 23 

III  THE  AWAKENING  OF  SCIPIO  . 37 

IV  SCIPIO  BORROWS  A  HORSE 54 

V    HUSBAND  AND  LOVER 69 

VI    SUNNY  OAK  PROTESTS 87 

VII    SUNNY  OAK  TRIES  His  HAND 94 

VIII  WILD  BILL  THINKS  HARD  —  AND  HEARS  NEWS     .     .  108 

IX    THE  FORERUNNER  OF  THE  TRUST 116 

X    THE  TRUST 124 

XI  STRANGERS  IN  SUFFERING  CREEK     .......  136 

XII    THE  WOMAN 142 

XIII  BIRDIE  AND  THE  BOYS 154 

XIV  BIRDIE  GIVES  MORE  ADVICE 167 

XV    THE  TRUST  AT  WORK 177 

XVI    ZIP'S  GRATITUDE 188 

XVII    JESSIE'S  LETTER 196 

XVIII    ON  THE  ROAD 205 

XIX    A  FINANCIAL  TRANSACTION 216 

XX    How  THE  TRUST  BOUGHT  MEDICINE 225 

XXI    SCIPIO  MAKES  PREPARATIONS 236 

XXII    SUNDAY  MORNING  IN  SUFFERING  CREEK 240 

XXIII  A  BATH  AND— 247 

XXIV  —A  BIBLE  TALK 259 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXV    WILD  BILL  FIRES  A  BOMB 267 

XXVI    WILD  BILL  INSPECTS  His  CLAIM 274 

XXVII    SUSPENSE 285 

XXVIII    JAMES .     .  296 

XXIX    THE  GOLD- STAGE .     ,     ,     .304 

XXX    ON  THE  SPAWN  CITY  TRAIL 316 

XXXI    THE  BATTLE '/   .     .     .     .     .     .  325 

XXXII    A  MAN'S  LOVE .     .     .     ,     .335 

XXXIII  THE  REASON  WHY 346 

XXXIV  THE  LUCK  OF  SCIPIO 353 

XXXV  HOME                                                                       .     .  363 


THE 
TWINS  OF   SUFFERING   CREEK 

»    ^  >  v  »   ">  »"  ^  *"  i J 

CHAPTER  l'  ;'liV:i^ 


POTTER'S  CLAY 


SCIPIO  moved  about  the  room  uncertainly.  It  was 
characteristic  of  him.  Nature  had  given  him  an  expression 
that  suggested  bewilderment,  and,  somehow,  this  expression 
had  got  into  his  movements. 

He  was  swabbing  the  floor  with  a  rag  mop ;  a  voluntary 
task,  undertaken  to  relieve  his  wife,  who  was  lounging  over 
the  glowing  cookstove,  reading  a  cheap  story  book.  Once 
or  twice  he  paused  in  his  labors,  and  his  mild,  questioning 
blue  eyes  sought  the  woman's  intent  face.  His  stubby, 
work-soiled  fingers  would  rake  their  way  through  his  straw- 
colored  hair,  which  grew  sparsely  and  defiantly,  standing 
out  at  every  possible  unnatural  angle,  and  the  mop  would 
again  flap  into  the  muddy  water,  and  continue  its  process  of 
smearing  the  rough  boarded  floor. 

Now  and  again  the  sound  of  children's  voices  floated  in 
through  the  open  doorway,  and  at  each  shrill  piping  the 
man's  pale  eyes  lit  into  a  smile  of  parental  tenderness.  But 
his  work  went  on  steadily,  for  such  was  the  deliberateness 
of  his  purpose. 

The  room  was  small,  and  already  three-quarters  of  it  had 
been  satisfactorily  smeared,  and  the  dirt  spread  to  the  nec- 
essary consistency.  Now  he  was  nearing  the  cookstove 
where  the  woman  sat. 


io         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  I'd  hate  to  worry  you  any,  Jess,"  he  said,  in  a  gentle, 
apologetic  voice,  "  but  I'm  right  up  to  this  patch.  If  you'd 
kind  of  lift  your  feet,  an'  tuck  your  skirts  around  you  some, 
guess  you  could  go  right  on  reading  your  fiction." 

The  woman  looked  up  with  a  peevish  frown.  Then 
something  like  a  pitying  smile  warmed  her  expression.  She 
was  a  handsome  creature,  of  a  large,  somewhat  bold  type, 
witfia  passionate  glow  of  strong  youth  and  health  in  every 
feature,  of  .her  well-shaped  face.  She  was  taller  than  her 
,<$$nijiu$v,e  rriisbatid,  and,  in  every  detail  of  expression,  his 
antithesis.  She  wore  a  dress  with  some  pretensions  to 
display,  and  suggesting  a  considerable  personal  vanity.  But 
it  was  of  the  tawdry  order  that  was  unconvincing,  and  lacked 
both  refinement  and  tidiness. 

Scipio  followed  up  his  words  with  a  glance  of  smiling 
amiability. 

"  I'm  real  sorry  — "  he  began  again. 

But  she  cut  him  short. 

"  Oh,  bother ! "  she  exclaimed ;  and,  thrusting  her  slip- 
pered feet  upon  the  stove,  tucked  her  skirts  about  her. 
Then,  utterly  ignoring  him,  she  buried  herself  once  more 
in  her  book. 

The  mop  flapped  about  her  chair  legs,  the  water  splashed 
the  stove.  Scipio  was  hurrying,  and  consequently  flounder- 
ing. It  was  his  endeavor  not  to  disturb  his  wife  more  than 
was  necessary. 

Finally  he  wrung  out  his  mop  and  stood  it  outside  the 
door  in  the  sun.  He  emptied  his  bucket  upon  the  few 
anaemic  cabbages  which  grew  in  an  untidy  patch  at  the  side 
of  the  hut,  and  returned  once  more  to  the  room. 

He  glanced  round  it  with  feeble  appreciation.  It  was  a 
hopeless  sort  of  place,  yet  he  could  not  detect  its  short- 
comings. The  rough,  log-built  walls,  smeared  with  a  mud 
plaster,  were  quite  unadorned.  There  was  one  solitary 
opening  for  a  window,  and  in  the  center  of  the  room  was  a 


POTTER'S  CLAY  n 

roughly  manufactured  table,  laden  with  the  remains  of 
several  repasts.  Breakfast  was  the  latest,  and  the  smell  of 
coffee  and  fried  pork  still  hung  about  the  room.  There  were 
two  Windsor  chairs,  one  of  which  his  wife  was  occupying, 
and  a  ramshackle  food  cupboard.  Then  there  were  the 
cookstove  and  a  fuel  box,  and  two  or  three  iron  pots  hanging 
about  the  walls. 

Out  of  this  opened  a  bedroom,  and  the  rough  bedstead, 
with  its  tumbled  blankets,  was  in  full  view  where  Scipio 
stood.  Although  the  morning  was  well  advanced  the  bed 
was  still  unmade.  Poor  as  the  place  was,  it  might,  in  the 
hands  of  a  busy  housewife,  have  presented  a  very  different 
appearance.  But  Jessie  was  not  a  good  housewife.  She 
hated  the  care  of  her  little  home.  She  was  not  a  bad  wom- 
an, but  she  had  no  sympathy  with  the  harshnesses  of  life. 
She  yearned  for  the  amplitude  to  which  she  had  been 
brought  up,  and  detested  bitterly  the  pass  to  which  her  hus- 
band's incapacity  had  brought  her. 

When  she  had  married  Scipio  he  had  money  —  money 
that  had  been  left  to  him  for  the  purpose  of  embarking  in 
business,  a  purpose  he  had  faithfully  carried  out.  But  his 
knowledge  of  business  was  limited  to  the  signing  of  checks 
in  favor  of  anyone  who  wanted  one,  and,  as  a  consequence, 
by  the  time  their  twins  were  three  years  old  he  had  received 
an  intimation  from  the  bank  that  he  must  forthwith  put 
them  in  credit  for  the  last  check  he  had  drawn. 

Thus  it  was  that,  six  months  later,  the  thirty  or  forty 
inhabitants  of  Job's  Flat  on  Suffering  Creek  —  a  little  min- 
ing camp  stowed  away  in  the  southwest  corner  of  Mon- 
tana, almost  hidden  amongst  the  broken  foothills  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains  —  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  a  Sunday 
afternoon  haze,  were  suddenly  startled  by  the  apparition  of 
a  small  wagon,  driven  by  a  smaller  man  with  yellow  hair, 
bearing  down  upon  them.  But  that  which  stirred  them  most 
surely  was  the  additional  sight  of  a  handsome  girl,  sitting 


12         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

at  his  side,  and,  crowded  between  them  on  the  seat,  a  pair  of 
small  children. 

Scipio,  in  a  desperate  effort  to  restore  his  fortunes,  and 
set  his  precious  family  once  more  on  a  sound  financial  basis, 
had  come  in  search  of  the  gold  which  report  said  was  to  be 
had  on  Suffering  Creek  for  the  trouble  of  picking  it  up. 

This  vision  startled  Suffering  Creek,  which,  metaphoric- 
ally, sat  up  and  rubbed  its  eyes.  Here  was  something  quite 
unaccustomed.  The  yellow-haired  fragment  of  humanity  at 
the  end  of  the  reins  was  like  nothing  they  had  ever  seen ; 
the  children  were  a  source  of  wondering  astonishment ;  but 
the  woman  —  ah !  There  was  one  woman,  and  one  woman 
only,  on  Suffering  Creek  until  Jessie's  arrival,  and  she  was 
only  the  "  hash-slinger  "  at  Minky's  store. 

The  newcomer's  face  pleased  them.  Her  eyes  were  fine, 
and  full  of  coquetry.  Her  figure  was  all  that  a  woman's 
should  be.  Yes,  the  camp  liked  the  look  of  her,  and  so  it 
set  out  to  give  Scipio  a  hearty  welcome. 
-  Now  a  mining  camp  can  be  very  cordial  in  its  rough  way. 
It  can  be  otherwise,  too.  But  in  this  case  we  have  only  to 
do  with  its  cordiality.  The  men  of  Suffering  Creek  were 
drawn  from  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  society.  The  ma- 
jority of  them  lived  like  various  grades  of  princes  when 
money  was  plentiful,  and  starved  when  Fortune  frowned. 
There  were  men  amongst  them  who  had  never  felt  the  softer 
side  of  life,  and  men  who  had  been  ruthlessly  kicked  from 
that  downy  couch.  There  were  good  men  and  scoundrels, 
workers  and  loafers ;  there  were  men  who  had  few  scruples, 
and  certainly  no  morals  whatever.  But  they  had  met  on  a 
common  ground  with  the  common  purpose  of  spinning  for- 
tune's wheel,  and  the  sight  of  a  woman's  handsome  face  set 
them  tumbling  over  each  other  to  extend  the  hand  of  friend- 
ship to  her  husband. 

And  the  simple-minded  Scipio  quickly  fell  into  the  fold. 
Nor  was  it  long  before  his  innocence,  his  mildness,  his  never- 


POTTER'S  CLAY  13 

failing  good-nature  got  hold  of  this  cluster  of  ruffians. 
They  laughed  at  him  —  he  was  a  source  of  endless  amuse- 
ment to  them  —  but  they  liked  him.  And  in  such  men  lik- 
ing meant  a  great  deal. 

But  from  the  first  Scipio's  peculiar  nature,  and  it  was 
peculiar,  led  him  into  many  grievous  mistakes.  His  mind 
was  full  of  active  purpose.  He  had  an  enormous  sense  of 
responsibility  and  duty  to  those  who  belonged  to  him.  But 
somehow  he  seemed  to  lack  any  due  sense  of  proportion  in 
those  things  which  were  vital  to  their  best  interests.  Pon- 
derous thought  had  the  effect  of  turning  his  ideas  upside 
down,  leaving  him  with  but  one  clear  inspiration.  He  must 
do.  He  must  act  —  and  at  once. 

Thus  it  was  he  gave  much  consideration  to  the  selection 
of  the  site  of  his  house.  He  wanted  a  southern  aspect,  it 
must  be  high  up,  it  must  not  be  crowded  amongst  the  other 
houses.  The  twins  needed  air.  Then  the  nearer  he  was  to 
the  creek,  where  the  gold  was  to  be  found,  the  better.  And 
again  his  prospecting  must  tap  a  part  of  it  where  the  diggers 
had  not  yet  "  claimed."  There  were  a  dozen  and  one  things 
to  be  considered,  and  he  thought  of  them  all  until  his  gentle 
mind  became  confused  and  his  sense  of  proportion  com- 
pletely submerged. 

The  result  was,  he  settled  desperately  upon  the  one  site 
that  common  sense  should  have  made  him  avoid.  Nor  was 
it  until  the  foundations  of  the  house  had  been  laid,  and  the 
walls  were  already  half  their  full  height,  that  he  realized, 
from  the  desolation  of  refuse  and  garbage  strewn  every- 
where about  him,  that  his  home  was  overlooking  the  camp 
"  dumps." 

However,  it  was  too  late  to  make  any  change,  and,  with 
characteristic  persistence,  he  completed  his  work  and  went 
into  residence  with  his  wife  and  the  twins. 

The  pressure  of  work  lessened,  he  had  a  moment  in 
which  to  look  around.  And  with  the  thought  of  his  twins 


14         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

on  his  mind,  and  all  his  wife  had  once  been  accustomed  to, 
he  quickly  realized  the  necessity  of  green  vegetables  in  his 
menage.  So  he  promptly  flew  to  the  task  of  arranging  a 
cabbage  patch.  The  result  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  He 
dug  and  planted  his  patch.  Nor  was  it  until  the  work  was 
completed  that  it  filtered  through  to  his  comprehension  that 
he  had  selected  the  only  patch  in  the  neighborhood  with  a 
heavy  underlay  of  gravel  and  lime  stone. 

But  his  crowning  effort  was  his  search  for  gold.  There 
are  well-established  geological  laws  governing  the  prospec- 
tor's craft  which  no  experienced  gold-seeker  ever  departs 
from.  These  were  all  carefully  explained  to  him  by  willing 
tongues.  Then,  after  poring  over  all  he  had  learned,  and 
thought  and  searched  for  two  days  and  two  nights,  he  finally 
discovered  a  spot  where  no  other  prospector  had  staked  the 
ground. 

It  was  a  curious,  gloomy  sort  of  patch,  nearly  half-a-mile 
up  the  creek  from  the  camp,  and  further  in  towards  the 
mountains.  Just  at  this  spot  the  banks  of  the  creek  were 
high,  there  was  an  unusual  blackness  about  the  soil,  and  it 
gave  out  a  faint  but  unrecognizable  odor,  that,  in  the  bright 
mountain  air,  was  quite  pleasant.  For  several  hundred 
yards  the  ground  of  this  flat  was  rankly  spongy,  with  an 
oozy  surface.  Then,  beyond,  lay  a  black  greasy-looking 
marsh,  and  further  on  again  the  hills  rose  abruptly  with  the 
facets  of  auriferous-looking  soil,  such  as  the  prospector  loves 
to  contemplate. 

Scipio  pondered.  And  though  the  conditions  outraged  all 
he  had  been  told  of  the  craft  he  was  embarking  upon,  he 
plunged  his  pick  into  this  flat,  and  set  to  work  with  charac- 
teristic good-will. 

The  men  of  the  camp  when  they  discovered  his  venture 
shook  their  heads  and  laughed.  Then  their  laugh  died  out 
and  their  hard  eyes  grew  serious.  But  no  one  interfered. 
They  were  all  seeking  gold. 


POTTER'S  CLAY  15 

This  was  Scipio's  position  on  Suffering  Creek,  but  it  does 
not  tell  half  of  what  lay  somewhere  in  the  back  of  his 
quaintly-poised  mind.  No  one  who  knew  him  failed  to 
realize  his  worship  for  his  wife.  His  was  a  love  such  as 
rarely  falls  to  the  lot  of  woman.  And  his  devotion  to  his 
girl  and  boy  twins  was  something  quite  beyond  words. 
These  things  were  the  mainspring  of  his  life,  and  drove 
him  to  such  superlative  degrees  of  self-sacrifice  that  could 
surely  only  have  been  endured  by  a  man  of  his  peculiar 
mind. 

No  matter  what  the  toil  of  his  claim,  he  always  seemed 
to  find  leisure  and  delight  in  saving  his  wife  from  the 
domestic  cares  of  their  home.  And  though  weary  to  the 
breaking-point  with  his  toil,  and  consumed  by  a  hunger 
that  was  well-nigh  painful,  when  food  was  short  he  never 
seemed  to  realize  his  needs  until  Jessie  and  the  children  had 
eaten  heartily.  And  afterwards  no  power  on  earth  could 
rob  him  of  an  hour's  romp  with  the  little  tyrants  who  ruled 
and  worshiped  him. 

Now,  as  he  stood  before  the  littered  table,  he  glanced  out 
at  the  sun.  The  morning  was  advancing  all  too  rapidly. 
His  eyes  drifted  across  to  his  wife.  She  was  still  reading. 
A  light  sigh  escaped  him.  He  felt  he  should  be  out  on  his 
claim.  However,  without  further  thought  he  took  the  boiler 
of  hot  water  off  the  stove  and  began  to  wash  up. 

It  was  the  clatter  of  the  plates  that  made  Jessie  look 
up. 

"  For  goodness'  sake !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  exasperation. 
"  You'll  be  bathing  the  children  next.  Say,  you  can  just 
leave  those  things  alone.  I've  only  got  a  bit  more  to  read 
to  the  end  of  the  chapter." 

"  I  thought  maybe  it  'ud  help  you  out  some.     I  — " 

"  You  give  me  a  pain,  you  sure  do,"  Jessie  broke  in. 
"  You  get  right  out  and  hustle  gold,  and  leave  things  of  that 
sort  to  others." 


16         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  But  I  don't  mind  doing  it,  truth  I  don't,"  Scipio  expos- 
tulated mildly.  "  I  just  thought  it  would  save  you  — " 

Jessie  gave  an  artificial  sigh. 

"  You  tire  me.  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  my  work  ? 
I'm  here  to  do  the  chores  —  and  well  I  know  it.  You're 
here  to  do  a  man's  work,  same  as  any  other  man.  You  get 
out  and  find  the  gold,  I  can  look  after  the  house  —  if  you 
can  call  it  a  house,"  she  added  contemptuously. 

Her  eyes  were  quite  hopeless  as  she  let  them  wander 
over  the  f  rowsiness  in  the  midst  of  which  she  sat.  She  was 
particularly  discontented  this  morning.  Not  only  had  her 
thoughts  been  rudely  dragged  back  from  the  seductive  con- 
templation of  the  doings  of  the  wealthy  ones  as  the  dime 
fiction-writer  sees  them,  but  there  was  a  feeling  of  some- 
thing more  personal.  It  was  something  which  she  hugged 
to  her  bosom  as  a  priceless  pearl  of  enjoyment  in  the  midst 
of  a  barren,  rock-bound  life  of  squalor. 

The  sight  of  him  meandering  about  the  room  recalled 
these  things.  Thoughts,  while  they  troubled  her,  yet  had 
power  to  stimulate  and  excite  her;  thoughts  which  she 
almost  dreaded,  but  which  caused  her  exquisite  delight. 
She  must  get  rid  of  him. 

But  as  she  looked  about  the  room  something  very  like 
dismay  assailed  her.  There  were  the  hated  household  du- 
ties confronting  her ;  duties  she  was  longing  to  be  free  of, 
duties  which  she  was  tempted  to  abandon  altogether,  with 
everything  else  that  concerned  her  present  sordid  life. 

But  Scipio  knew  none  of  this.  His  unsuspicious  nature 
left  him  utterly  blinded  to  the  inner  workings  of  her  indo- 
lent, selfish  spirit,  and  was  always  ready  to  accept  blame  for 
her  ill-humors.  Now  he  hurriedly  endeavored  to  make 
amends. 

"Of  course  you  can,  Jess,"  he  said  eagerly.  "  I  don't 
guess  there's  another  woman  around  who  can  manage  things 
like  you.  You  don't  never  grumble  at  things,  and  goodness 


POTTER'S  CLAY  17 

knows  I  couldn't  blame  you  any,  if  you  did.  But  —  but 
ther'  seems  such  a  heap  to  be  done  —  for  you  to  do,"  he  went 
on,  glancing  with  mild  vengefulness  at  the  litter.  "  Say," 
he  cried,  with  a  sudden  lightening  and  inspiration,  "  maybe 
I  could  buck  some  wood  for  you  before  I  go.  You'll  need 
a  good  fire  to  dry  the  kiddies  by  after  you  washened  'em. 
It  sure  wouldn't  kep  me  long." 

But  the  only  effect  of  his  persistent  kindliness  was  to 
further  exasperate  his  wife.  Every  word,  every  gentle  in- 
tention on  his  part  made  her  realize  her  own  shortcomings 
more  fully.  In  her  innermost  heart  she  knew  that  she  had 
no  desire  to  do  the  work ;  she  hated  it,  she  was  lazy.  She 
knew  that  he  was  far  better  than  she;  good,  even  noble, 
in  spite  of  his  mental  powers  being  so  lamentably  at  fault. 
All  this  she  knew,  and  it  weakly  maddened  her  because 
she  could  not  rise  above  herself  and  show  him  all  the  woman 
that  was  so  deeply  hidden  under  her  cloak  of  selfishness. 

Then  there  was  that  other  thought,  that  something  that 
was  her  secret.  She  had  that  instinct  of  good  that  made  it 
a  guilty  secret.  Yet  she  knew  that,  as  the  world  sees 
things,  she  had  as  yet  done  no  great  harm. 

And  therein  lay  the  mischief.  Had  she  been  a  vicious 
woman  nothing  would  have  troubled  her,  but  she  was  not 
vicious.  She  was  not  even  less  than  good  in  her  moral 
instincts.  Only  she  was  weak,  hopelessly  weak,  and  so 
all  these  things  drove  her  to  a  shrewish  discontent  and 
peevishness. 

"  Oh,  there's  no  peace  where  you  are,"  she  cried,  passion- 
ately flinging  her  book  aside  and  springing  to  her  feet. 
"  Do  you  think  I  can't  look  to  this  miserable  home  you've 
given  me?  I  hate  it.  Yes,  I  hate  it  all.  Why  I  married 
you  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Look  at  it.  Look  round  you, 
and  if  you  have  any  idea  of  things  at  all  what  can  you  see 
but  a  miserable  hog  pen?  Yes,  that's  it,  a  hog  pen.  And 
we  are  the  hogs.  You  and  me,  and  —  and  the  little  ones. 


18         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Why  haven't  you  got  some  '  get  up '  about  you  ?  Why 
don't  you  earn  some  money,  get  some  somehow  so  we  can 
live  as  we've  been  used  to  living?  Why  don't  you  do  some- 
thing, instead  of  pottering  around  here  trying  to  do  chores 
that  aren't  your  work,  an'  you  can't  do  right  anyway  ?  You 
make  me  mad  —  you  do  indeed.  But  there!  There's  no 
use  talking  to  you,  none  whatever ! " 

"  I'm  sorry,  Jess.     I'm  real  sorry  you  feel  like  this." 

Scipio  left  the  table  and  moved  to  the  cupboard,  into  which 
he  mechanically  began  to  stow  the  provender.  It  was  an 
unconscious  action  and  almost  pathetic  in  its  display  of  that 
kindly  purpose,  which,  where  his  wife  was  concerned,  was 
never- failing.  Jessie  saw,  angry  as  she  was,  and  her  fine 
eyes  softened.  Perhaps  it  was  the  maternal  instinct  under- 
lying the  selfishness  that  made  her  feel  something  akin  to  a 
pitying  affection  for  her  little  husband. 

She  glanced  down  at  the  boiler  of  water,  and  mechanically 
gathered  some  of  the  tin  plates  together  and  proceeded  to 
wash  them. 

"  I'm  kind  of  sorry,  Zip,"  she  said.  "  I  just  didn't  mean 
all  that.  Only  —  only  it  makes  me  feel  bad  seeing  all  this 
around,  and  you  —  you  always  trying  to  do  both  a  man's  and 
a  woman's  work.  Things  are  bad  with  us,  so  bad  they  seem 
hopeless.  We're  right  here  with  two  kiddies  and  —  and 
ourselves,  and  there's  practically  no  money  and  no  prospects 
of  there  being  any.  It  makes  me  want  to  cry.  It  makes 
me  want  to  do  something  desperate.  It  makes  me  hate 
things  —  even  those  things  I've  no  right  to  hate.  No,  no," 
as  the  man  tried  to  stop  her,  "  don't  you  say  anything.  Not 
a  word  till  I've  done.  You  see,  I  mayn't  feel  like  talking  of 
these  things  again.  Maybe  I  shan't  never  have  a  chance  of 
talking  them  again." 

She  sighed  and  stared  out  of  window. 

"  I  want  you  to  understand  things  as  I  see  them,  and 
maybe  you'll  not  blame  me  if  I  see  them  wrong.  You're 


POTTER'S  CLAY  19 

too  good  for  me,  and  I  —  I  don't  seem  grateful  for  your 
goodness.  You  work  and  think  of  others  as  no  other  man 
would  do.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  think  of  yourself. 
It's  me,  and  the  children  first  with  you,  and,  Zip  —  and 
you've  no  call  to  think  much  of  me.  Yes,  I  know  what 
you'd  say.  I'm  the  most  perfect  woman  on  earth.  I'm  not. 
I'm  not  even  good.  If  I  were  I'd  be  glad  of  all  you  try  to 
do ;  I'd  help  you.  But  I  don't,  and  —  and  I  just  don't  seem 
able  to.  I'm  always  sort  of  longing  and  longing  for  the 
old  days.  I  long  for  those  things  we  can  never  have.  I 
think  —  think  always  of  folks  with  money,  their  automo- 
biles, their  grand  houses,  with  lots  and  lots  of  good  things  to 
eat.  And  it  makes  me  hate  —  all  —  all  this.  Oh,  Zip,  I'm 
sorry.  I'm  sorry  I'm  not  good.  But  I'm  not,  and  I  —  I  — " 

She  broke  off  and  dashed  the  back  of  her  hand  across  her 
eyes  in  time  to  wipe  away  the  great  tears  that  threatened  to 
roll  down  her  rounded  cheeks.  In  a  moment  Scipio  was 
at  her  side,  and  one  arm  was  thrust  about  her  waist,  and  he 
seized  one  of  her  hands. 

"  You  mustn't  to  cry,"  he  said  tenderly,  as  though  she 
were  a  child.  "  You  mustn't,  Jess  —  truth.  You  ain't  what 
you're  saying.  You  ain't  nothing  like  it.  You're  dear  and 
good,  and  it's  'cause  you're  that  good  and  honest  you're 
saying  all  these  things.  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  just 
how  you're  suffering?  Do  you?  Why,  Jess,  I  know  just 
everything  about  you,  and  it  nigh  breaks  my  heart  to  think 
of  all  I've  brought  you  to.  It  ain't  you,  Jess,  it's  me  who's 
bad.  It's  me  who's  a  fool.  I  hain't  no  more  sense  than  a 
buck  rabbit,  and  I  ain't  sure  a  new-littered  pup  couldn't 
put  me  to  sleep  for  savvee.  Now  don't  you  go  to  crying. 
Don't  you  indeed.  I  just  can't  bear  to  see  those  beautiful 
eyes  o'  yours  all  red  and  running  tears.  And,  say,  we  sure 
have  got  better  prospects  than  you're  figgering.  You  see, 
I've  got  a  claim  there's  no  one  else  working  on.  And  sure 
there's  minerals  on  it.  Copper  —  or  leastways  it  looks  like 


20         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

copper,  and  there's  micah,  an'  lots  —  an'  lots  of  stuff.  I'll 
sure  find  gold  in  that  claim.  It's  just  a  matter  of  keepin' 
on.  And  I'm  going  to.  And  then,  when  we  find  it,  what 
a  blow-out  we'll  have.  We'll  get  automobiles  and  houses, 
and  —  and  we'll  have  a  bunch  of  sweet  corn  for  supper, 
same  as  we  had  at  a  hotel  once,  and  then  — " 

But  the  woman  had  suddenly  drawn  away  from  his 
embrace.  She  could  stand  no  more  of  her  little  husband's 
pathetic  hopes.  She  knew.  She  knew,  with  the  rest  of  the 
camp,  the  hopelessness  of  his  quest,  and  even  in  her  worst 
moments  she  had  not  the  heart  to  destroy  his  illusions.  It 
was  no  good,  the  hopelessness  of  it  all  came  more  than  ever 
upon  her. 

"  Zip  dear,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden,  unwonted  tenderness 
that  had  something  strangely  nervous  in  it,  "  don't  you 
get  staying  around  here  or  I'll  keep  right  on  crying.  You 
get  out  to  your  work.  I'm  feeling  better  now,  and  you've 
—  you've  made  things  look  kind  of  brighter,"  she  lied. 

She  glanced  out  of  window,  and  the  height  of  the  sun 
seemed  suddenly  to  startle  her.  Her  more  gentle  look  sud- 
denly vanished  and  one  of  irritability  swiftly  replaced  it. 

"  Now,  won't  you  let  me  help  you  with  all  these  things  ?  " 
Scipio  coaxed. 

But  Jessie  had  seemingly  quite  forgotten  her  moment  of 
tenderness. 

"  No,"  she  said  sharply.  "  You  get  right  out  to  work." 
Then  after  a  pause,  with  a  sudden  warming  in  her  tone, 
"  Think  of  Jamie  and  Vada.  Think  of  them,  and  not  of 
me.  Their  little  lives  are  just  beginning.  They  are  quite 
helpless.  You  must  work  for  them,  and  work  as  you've 
never  done  before.  They  are  ours,  and  we  love  them.  I 
love  them.  Yes  "—  with  a  harsh  laugh  — "  better  than  my- 
self. Don't  you  think  of  me,  Zip.  Think  of  them,  and 
work  for  them.  Now  be  off.  I  don't  want  you  here." 

Scipio   reluctantly  enough   accepted  his   dismissal.     His 


POTTER'S  CLAY  21 

wife's  sudden  nervousness  of  manner  was  not  hidden  from 
him.  He  believed  that  she  was  seriously  upset,  and  it  pained 
and  alarmed  his  gentle  heart.  But  the  cause  of  her  condi- 
tion did  not  enter  into  his  calculations.  How  should  it? 
The  reason  of  things  seemed  to  be  something  which  his  mind 
could  neither  grasp  nor  even  inquire  into.  She  was  trou- 
bled, and  he  —  well,  it  made  him  unhappy.  She  said  go  and 
work,  work  for  the  children.  Ah,  yes,  her  thoughts  were 
for  the  children,  womanly,  unselfish  thoughts  just  such  as  a 
good  mother  should  have.  So  he  went,  full  of  a  fresh  en- 
thusiasm for  his  work  and  for  his  object. 

Meanwhile  Jessie  went  on  with  her  work.  And  strangely 
enough  her  nervousness  increased  as  the  moments  went  by, 
and  a  vague  feeling  of  apprehension  took  hold  of  her.  She 
hurried  desperately.  To  get  the  table  cleared  was  her  chief 
concern.  How  she  hated  it.  The  water  grew  cold  and 
greasy,  and  every  time  she  dipped  her  cloth  into  it  she  shud- 
dered. Again  and  again  her  eyes  turned  upon  the  window 
surveying  the  bright  sunlight  outside.  The  children  playing 
somewhere  beyond  the  door  were  ignored.  She  was  even 
trying  to  forget  them.  She  heard  their  voices,  and  they  set 
her  nerves  jangling  with  each  fresh  peal  of  laughter,  or 
shrill  piping  cry. 

At  last  the  last  plate  and  enameled  cup  was  washed  and 
dried.  The  boiler  was  emptied  and  hung  upon  the  wall. 
She  swabbed  the  table  carelessly  and  left  it  to  dry.  Then, 
with  a  rush,  she  vanished  into  the  inner  room. 

The  moments  passed  rapidly.  There  was  no  sound  be- 
yond the  merry  games  of  the  twins  squatting  out  in  the  sun, 
digging  up  the  dusty  soil  with  their  fat  little  fingers.  Jessie 
did  not  reappear. 

At  last  a  light  decided  step  sounded  on  the  creek  side  of 
the  house.  It  drew  nearer.  A  moment  or  two  later  a 
shadow  flitted  across  the  window.  Then  suddenly  a  man's 
head  and  shoulders  filled  up  the  opening.  The  head  bent 


22         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

forward,  craning  into  the  room,  and  a  pair  of  handsome 
eyes  peered  curiously  round. 

"  Hi !  "  he  cried  in  a  suppressed  tone.  "  Hi !  Jessie !  " 
The  bedroom  curtain  was  flung  aside,  and  Jessie,  arrayed 
carefully  in  her  best  shirtwaist  and  skirt,  suddenly  appeared 
in  the  doorway.  Her  eyes  were  glowing  with  excitement 
and  fear.  But  her  rich  coloring  was  alight  with  warmth, 
and  the  man  stared  in  admiration.  Yes,  she  was  very  good 
to  look  upon. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   HARVEST  OF   PASSION 

FOR  one  passionate  moment  the  woman's  radiant  face  held 
the  gaze  of  the  man.  He  was  swayed  with  an  unwholesome 
hunger  at  the  sight  of  her  splendid  womanhood.  The 
beautiful,  terrified  eyes,  so  full  of  that  allurement  which 
ever  claims  ail-that  is  vital  in  man ;  the  warm  coloring  of  her 
delicately  rounded  cheeks,  so  soft,  so  downy;  the  perfect 
undulations  of  her  strong  young  figure  —  these  things 
caught  him  anew,  and  again  set  raging  the  fire  of  a  reckless, 
vicious  passion.  In  a  flash  he  had  mounted  to  the  sill  of  the 
window-opening,  and  dropped  inside  the  room. 

"  Say  —  Jessie,"  he  breathed  hotly.  "  You're  —  you're 
fine/' 

His  words  were  almost  involuntary.  It  was  as  though 
they  were  a  mere  verbal  expression  of  what  was  passing 
through  his  mind,  and  made  without  thought  of  addressing 
her.  He  was  almost  powerless  in  his  self-control  before  her 
beauty.  And  Jessie's  conscience  in  its  weakly  life  could  not 
hold  out  before  the  ardor  of  his  assault.  Her  eyelids  low- 
ered. She  stood  waiting,  and  in  a  moment  the  bold  invader 
held  her  crushed  in  his  arms. 

She  lay  passive,  yielding  to  his  caresses  for  some  mo- 
ments. Then  of  a  sudden  she  stirred  restlessly.  She  strug- 
gled weakly  to  free  herself.  Then,  as  his  torrential  kisses 
continued,  sweeping  her  lips,  her  eyes,  her  cheeks,  her  hair, 
something  like  fear  took  hold  of  her.  Her  struggles  sud- 
denly became  real,  and  at  last  she  stood  back  panting,  but 
with  her  young  heart  mutely  stirred  to  a  passionate  response. 


24         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Nor  was  it  difficult,  as  they  stood  thus,  to  understand  how 
nature  rose  dominant  over  all  that  belonged  to  the  higher 
spiritual  side  of  the  woman.  The  wonderful  virility  in  her 
demanded  life  in  the  full  flood  of  its  tide,  and  here,  standing 
before  her,  was  the  embodiment  of  all  her  natural,  if  baser, 
ideals. 

The  man  was  a  handsome,  picturesque  creature  bred  on 
lines  of  the  purer  strains.  He  had  little  enough  about  him 
of  the  rough  camp  in  which  she  lived.  He  brought  with 
him  an  atmosphere  of  cities,  an  atmosphere  she  yearned  for. 
It  was  in  his  dress,  in  his  speech,  in  the  bold  daring  of  his 
handsome  eyes.  She  saw  in  his  face  the  high  breeding  of 
an  ancient  lineage.  There  was  such  a  refinement  in  the 
delicate  chiseling  of  his  well-molded  features.  His  brows 
were  widely  expressive  of  a  strong  intellect.  His  nose  pos- 
sessed that  wonderful  aquilinity  associated  with  the  highest 
type  of  Indian.  His  cheeks  were  smooth,  and  of  a  delicacy 
which  threw  into  relief  the  perfect  model  of  the  frame  be- 
neath them.  His  clean-shaven  mouth  and  chin  suggested  all 
that  which  a  woman  most  desires  to  behold  in  a  man.  His 
figure  was  tall  and  muscular,  straight-limbed  and  spare; 
while  in  his  glowing  eyes  shone  an  irresistible  courage,  a  fire 
of  passion,  and  such  a  purpose  as  few  women  could 
withstand.  And  so  the  wife  of  Scipio  admitted  her  defeat 
and  yielded  the  play  of  all  her  puny  arts,  that  she  might 
appear  sightly  in  his  eyes. 

But  she  only  saw  him  as  he  wished  her  to  see  him.  He 
showed  her  the  outward  man.  The  inner  man  was  some- 
thing not  yet  for  her  to  probe.  He  was  one  of  Nature's 
anachronisms.  She  had  covered  a  spirit  which  was  of  the 
hideous  stock  from  which  he  sprang  with  a  gilding  of 
superlative  manhood. 

His  name  was  James,  a  name  which,  in  years  long  past, 
the  Western  world  of  America  had  learned  to  hate  with  a 
bitterness  rarely  equaled.  But  all  that  was  almost  forgot- 


THE  HARVEST  OF  PASSION  25 

ten,  and  this  man,  by  reason  of  his  manner,  which  was 
genial,  open-handed,  even  somewhat  magnificent,  rarely 
failed,  at  first,  to  obtain  the  good-will  of  those  with  whom 
he  came  into  contact. 

It  was  nearly  nine  months  since  he  first  appeared  on 
Suffering  Creek.  Apparently  he  had  just  drifted  there  in 
much  the  same  way  that  most  of  the  miners  had  drifted, 
possibly  drawn  thither  out  of  curiosity  at  the  reports  of  the 
gold  strike.  So  unobtrusive  had  been  his  coming  that  even 
in  that  small  community  he  at  first  passed  almost  unob- 
served. Yet  he  was  full  of  interest  in  the  place,  and  con- 
trived to  learn  much  of  its  affairs  and  prospects.  Having 
acquired  all  the  information  he  desired,  he  suddenly  set  out 
to  make  himself  popular.  And  his  popularity  was  brought 
about  by  a  free-handed  dispensation  of  a  liberal  supply  of 
money.  Furthermore,  he  became  a  prominent  devotee  at 
the  poker  table  in  Minky's  store,  and,  by  reason  of  the  fact 
that  he  usually  lost,  as  most  men  did  who  joined  in  a  game 
in  which  Wild  Bill  was  taking  a  hand,  his  popularity  in- 
creased rapidly,  and  the  simple-minded  diggers  dubbed  him 
with  the  dazzling  sobriquet  of  "  Lord  James." 

It  was  during  this  time  that  he  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Jessie  and  her  husband,  and  it  was  astonishing  how  swiftly 
his  friendship  for  the  unsuspicious  little  man  ripened. 

This  first  visit  lasted  just  three  weeks.  Then,  without 
warning,  and  in  the  same  unobtrusive  way  as  he  had  come, 
he  vanished  from  the  scene.  For  the  moment  Suffering 
Creek  wondered ;  then,  as  is  the  way  of  such  places,  it  ceased 
to  wonder.  It  was  too  busy  with  its  own  affairs  to  concern 
itself  to  any  great  extent  with  the  flotsam  that  drifted  its 
way.  Scipio  wondered  a  little  more  than  the  rest,  but  his 
twins  and  his  labors  occupied  him  so  closely  that  he,  too, 
dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind.  As  for  Jessie,  she  said 
not  a  word,  and  gave  no  sign  except  that  her  discontent 
with  her  lot  became  more  pronounced. 


26         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

But  Suffering  Creek  was  not  done  with  James  yet.  The 
next  time  he  came  was  nearly  a  month  later,  just  as  the 
monthly  gold  stage  was  preparing  for  the  road,  carrying 
with  it  a  shipment  of  gold-dust  bound  for  Spawn  City,  the 
nearest  banking  town,  eighty  miles  distant. 

He  at  once  took  up  his  old  position  in  the  place,  stayed 
two  weeks,  staked  out  a  claim  for  himself,  and  pursued  his 
intimacy  with  Scipio  and  his  wife  with  redoubled  ardor. 

Before  those  two  weeks  were  over  somehow  his  popular- 
ity began  to  wane.  This  intimacy  with  Scipio  began  to 
carry  an  ill-flavor  with  the  men  of  the  place.  Somehow  it 
did  not  ring  pleasantly.  Besides,  he  showed  a  fresh  side  to 
his  character.  He  drank  heavily,  and  when  under  the  in- 
fluence of  spirits  abandoned  his  well-polished  manners,  and 
displayed  a  coarseness,  a  savage  truculence,  such  as  he  had 
been  careful  never  to  show  before.  Then,  too,  his  claim  re- 
mained unworked. 

The  change  in  public  opinion  was  subtle,  and  no  one 
spoke  of  it.  But  there  was  no  regret  when,  finally,  he 
vanished  again  from  their  midst  in  the  same  quiet  manner 
in  which  he  had  gone  before. 

Then  came  the  catastrophe.  Two  weeks  later  a  gold 
stage  set  out  on  its  monthly  journey.  Sixty  miles  out  it 
was  held  up  and  plundered.  Its  two  guards  were  shot  dead, 
and  the  driver  mortally  wounded.  But  fortunately  the 
latter  lived  long  enough  to  tell  his  story.  He  had  been  at- 
tacked by  a  gang  of  eight  well-armed  horsemen.  They 
were  all  masked,  and  got  clear  away  with  nearly  thirty 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  gold. 

In  the  first  rush  of  despairing  rage  Suffering  Creek  was 
unable  to  even  surmise  at  the  identity  of  the  authors  of  the 
outrage.  Then  Wild  Bill,  the  gambler,  demanded  an  ac- 
counting for  every  man  of  the  camp  on  the  day  of  the 
tragedy.  In  a  very  short  time  this  was  done,  and  the  proc- 
ess turned  attention  upon  Lord  James.  Where  was  he? 


THE  HARVEST  OF  PASSION  27 

The  question  remained  unanswered.  Suspicions  grew  into 
swift  conviction.  Men  asked  each  other  who  he  was,  and 
whence  he  came.  There  was  no  answer  to  any  of  their  in- 
quiries at  first.  Then,  suddenly,  news  came  to  hand  that 
the  gang,  no  longer  troubling  at  concealment,  •  was  riding 
roughshod  over  the  country.  It  was  a  return  to  the  regime 
of  the  "  bad  man,"  and  stock-raiding  and  "  hold-ups,"  of 
greater  or  less  degree,  were  being  carried  on  in  many  direc- 
tions with  absolute  impunity ;  and  the  man  James  was  at  the 
head  of  it. 

It  was  a  rude  awakening.  All  the  old  peace  and  security 
were  gone.  The  camp  was  in  a  state  of  ferment.  Every 
stranger  that  came  to  the  place  was  eyed  askance,  and  unless 
he  could  give  a  satisfactory  account  of  himself  he  had  a 
poor  chance  with  the  furious  citizens.  The  future  dispatch 
of  gold  became  a  problem  that  exercised  every  mind,  and 
for  two  months  none  left  the  place.  And  this  fact 
brought  about  a  further  anxiety.  The  gang  of  robbers  was 
a  large  one.  Was  it  possible  they  might  attempt  a  raid 
on  the  place?  And,  if  so,  what  were  their  chances  of 
success  ? 

Such  was  the  position  at  Suffering  Creek,  and  the  nature 
of  the  threat  which  hung  over  it.  One  man's  name  was  in 
everybody's  mind.  His  personality  and  doings  concerned 
them  almost  as  nearly  as  their  search  for  the  elusive  gold 
which  was  as  the  breath  of  life  to  them. 

And  yet  Lord  James  was  in  no  way  deterred  from  visit- 
ing the  neighborhood.  He  knew  well  enough  the  position 
he  was  in.  He  knew  well  enough  all  its  possibilities.  Yet 
he  came  again  and  again.  His  visits  were  paid  in  daylight, 
carefully  calculated,  even  surreptitiously  made.  He  sought 
the  place  secretly,  but  he  came,  careless  of  all  consequences 
to  himself.  His  contempt  for  the  men  of  Suffering  Creek 
was  profound  and  unaffected.  He  probably  feared  no  man. 

And  the  reason  of  his  visits  was  not  far  to  seek.     There 


28         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

was  something  infinitely  more  alluring  to  him  at  the  house 
on  the  dumps  than  the  gold  which  held  the  miners  —  an 
inducement  which  he  had  neither  wish  nor  intention  to  resist. 
He  reveled  in  the  joy  and  excitement  of  pursuing  this  wife 
of  another  man,  and  had  the  camp  bristled  with  an  army  of 
fighting  men,  and  had  the  chances  been  a  thousand  to  one 
against  him,  with  him  the  call  of  the  blood  would  just  as 
surely  have  been  obeyed.  This  was  the  man,  savage,  crude, 
of  indomitable  courage  and  passionate  recklessness. 

And  Jessie  was  dazzled,  even  blinded.  She  was  just  a 
weak,  erring  woman,  thrilling  with  strong  youthful  life,  and 
his  dominating  nature  played  upon  her  vanity  with  an  ease 
that  was  quite  pitiful.  She  was  only  too  ready  to  believe 
his  denials  of  the  accusations  against  him.  She  was  only  too 
ready  to  —  love.  The  humility,  devotion,  the  goodness  of 
Scipio  meant  nothing  to  her.  They  were  barren  virtues,  too 
unexciting  and  uninteresting  to  make  any  appeal.  Her  pas- 
sionate heart  demanded  something  more  stimulating.  And 
the  stimulant  she  found  in  the  savage  wooing  of  his  un- 
scrupulous rival. 

Now  the  man's  eyes  contemplated  the  girl's  ripe  beauty, 
while  he  struggled  for  that  composure  necessary  to  carry 
out  all  that  was  in  his  mind.  He  checked  a  further  rising 
impulse,  and  his  voice  sounded  almost  harsh  as  he  put  a 
sharp  question. 

"Where's  Zip?"  he  demanded. 

The  girl's  eyelids  slowly  lifted.  The  warm  glow  of  her 
eyes  made  them  limpid  and  melting. 

"  Gone  out  to  his  claim,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

The  other  nodded  appreciatively. 

"  Good." 

He  turned  to  the  window.  Out  across  the  refuse-heaps 
the  rest  of  the  camp  was  huddled  together,  a  squalid  collec- 
tion of  huts,  uninspiring,  unpicturesque.  His  glance  satis- 
fied him.  There  was  not  a  living  soul  in  view ;  not  a  sound 


THE  HARVEST  OF  PASSION  29 

except  the  prattle  of  the  children  who  were  still  playing 
outside  the  hut.  But  the  latter  carried  no  meaning  to  him. 
In  the  heat  of  the  moment  even  their  mother  was  dead  to 
the  appeal  of  their  piping  voices. 

"  You're  coming  away  now,  Jess,"  the  man  went  on, 
making  a  movement  towards  her. 

But  the  girl  drew  back.  The  directness  of  his  challenge 
was  startling,  and  roused  in  her  a  belated  defensiveness. 
Going  away?  It  sounded  suddenly  terrible  to  her,  and 
thrilled  her  with  a  rush  of  fear  which  set  her  shivering. 
And  yet  she  knew  that  all  along  this  —  this  was  the  end 
towards  which  she  had  been  drifting.  The  rich  color  faded 
from  her  cheeks  and  her  lips  trembled. 

"  No,  no,"  she  whispered  in  a  terrified  tone.  For  the 
moment  all  that  was  best  in  her  rose  up  and  threatened  to 
defeat  his  end. 

But  James  saw  his  mistake.  For  a  second  a  flash  of 
anger  lit  his  eyes,  and  hot  resentment  flew  to  his  lips.  But  it 
found  no  expression.  Instead,  the  anger  died  out  of  his 
eyes,  and  was  replaced  by  a  fire  of  passion  such  as  had  al- 
ways won  its  way  with  this  girl.  He  moved  towards  her 
again  with  something  subtly  seductive  in  his  manner,  and  his 
arms  closed  about  her  unresisting  form  in  a  caress  she  was 
powerless  to  deny.  Passive  yet  palpitating  she  lay  pressed 
in  his  arms,  all  her  woman's  softness,  all  her  subtle  perfume, 
maddening  him  to  a  frenzy. 

"  Won't  you  ?  I  love  you,  Jessie,  so  that  nothing  else  on 
earth  counts.  I  can't  do  without  you  —  I  can't  —  I  can't !  " 

His  hot  lips  crushed  against  hers,  which  yielded  them- 
selves all  too  willingly.  Presently  he  raised  his  head,  and 
his  eyes  held  hers.  "  Won't  you  come,  Jess  ?  There's 
nothing  here  for  you.  See,  I  can  give  you  all  you  wish  for : 
money,  a  fine  home,  as  homes  go  hereabouts.  My  ranch  is 
a  dandy  place,  and,"  with  a  curious  laugh,  "  stocked  with 
some  of  the  best  cattle  in  the  country.  You'll  have  horses 


30         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

to  ride,  and  dresses  —  See !  You  can  have  all  you  want. 
What  is  there  here?  Nothing.  Say,  you  don't  even  get 
enough  to  eat.  Scipio  hasn't  got  more  backbone  in  him 
than  to  gather  five  cents  when  it's  raining  dollars."  He 
kissed  her  upturned  face  again,  and  the  warm  responsive 
movement  of  her  lips  told  him  how  easy  his  task  really  was. 

But  again  she  pressed  him  back,  so  that  he  held  her  only 
at  arms'  length.  Her  swimming  eyes  gazed  long  and  ar- 
dently into  his. 

"  It  isn't  that,  Jim,"  she  said  earnestly ;  "  it  isn't  that. 
Those  things  don't  count.  It's  —  it's  you.  I  —  I  don't  want 
dresses.  I  don't  want  the  money.  I  —  I  —  want  you." 

Then  she  started,  terrified  again. 

"But,  Jim,  why  did  you  come  up  to  this  hut?"  she 
cried.  "  Why  didn't  you  wait  for  me  down  in  the  bush  at 
the  river,  as  usual?  Oh,  Jim,  if  anybody  sees  you  they'll 
shoot  you  down  like  a  dog  — " 

"  Dog,  eh  ?  "  cried  the  man,  with  a  ringing  laugh.  "  Let 
'em  try.  But  don't  you  worry,  Jess.  No  one  saw  me. 
Anyway,  I  don't  care  a  curse  if  they  did." 

"Oh,  Jim!" 

Then  she  nestled  closer  to  him  for  a  moment  of  passionate 
silence,  while  he  kissed  her,  prolonging  the  embrace  with  all 
the  fire  with  which  he  was  consumed.  And  after  that  she 
spoke  again.  But  now  it  was  the  mother  that  would  no 
longer  be  denied,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  storm  of  emo- 
tion. 

"  But  I  —  I  can't  leave  them  —  the  little  ones.  I  can't,  I 
can't !  "  she  cried  piteously.  "  Jim,  I  love  you.  God  knows 
how  badly  I  love  you,  but  I  —  I  love  them,  too.  They  are 
mine.  They  are  part  of  me,  and  —  and  I  can't  do  without 
them.  No  —  no.  I  can't  go  —  I  won't  go,"  she  hurried  on, 
without  conviction.  "  I  can't.  I  want  my  babies  —  my  little 
boy  and  girl.  You  say  you  love  me.  I  know  you  love  me. 
Then  take  them  with  us,  and  —  and  I'll  do  as  you  wish. 


THE  HARVEST  OF  PASSION  31 

Oh,  I'm  wicked,  I  know.  I'm  wicked,  and  cruel,  and  vile 
to  leave  Scipio.  And  I  don't  want  to,  but  —  but  —  oh,  Jim, 
say  you'll  take  them,  too.  I  can  never  be  happy  without 
them.  You  can  never  understand.  You  are  a  man,  and  so 
strong/'  He  drew  her  to  him  again,  and  she  nestled  close 
in  his  arms.  "  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  hear  a  child's 
voice,  and  know  that  it  is  part  of  you,  your  life,  one  little 
tiny  atom  beginning  all  over  again.  No,  no  —  I  must  have 
them." 

She  slowly  drew  herself  away,  watching  his  handsome 
face,  half  fearfully,  half  eagerly.  She  knew  in  her  heart 
that  she  was  waiting  for  his  verdict,  and,  whatever  it  might 
be,  she  would  have  to  abide  by  it.  She  knew  she  must  do 
as  he  wished,  and  that  very  knowledge  gladdened  her,  even 
in  spite  of  her  maternal  dread  of  being  parted  from  her 
babies. 

She  saw  his  expression  change.  She  saw  the  look  of 
perplexity  in  the  sudden  drawing  together  of  his  finely 
marked  brows,  she  saw  the  half -angry  impatience  flash  into 
his  eyes,  she  saw  this  again  replaced  with  a  half-derisive 
smile.  And  each  emotion  she  read  in  her  own  way,  mold- 
ing it  to  suit  and  fall  in  with  her  own  desires,  yet  with  a 
willing  feeling  that  his  decision  should  be  paramount,  that 
she  was  there  to  obey  him. 

He  slowly  shook  his  head,  and  a  curious  hardness  set 
itself  about  his  strong  mouth. 

"  Not  now,"  he  said.  "  I  would,  but  it  can't  be  done. 
See  here,  Jess,  I've  got  two  horses  hidden  away  down  there 
in  the  bush  beside  the  creek  —  one  for  you,  and  one  for  me. 
We  can't  fetch  those  kiddies  along  with  us  now.  It  wouldn't 
be  safe,  anyhow.  We've  got  sixty-odd  miles  to  ride 
through  the  foothills.  But  see,  I'll  fetch  'em  one  day,  after, 
if  you  must  have  'em.  How's  that?  " 

"  But  they'll  never  let  you,"  cried  Jessie.  "  The  whole 
camp  will  be  up  in  arms  when  they  know  I've  gone.  You 


32         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

don't  know  them,  Jim.  They're  fond  of  Zip,  and  they'll 
stand  by  him." 

James  laughed  contemptuously. 

"  Say,  Jess,"  he  cried,  "  you  come  right  along  with  me 
now.  And  if  you  need  those  kiddies,  not  all  Suffering  Creek 
—  no,  nor  hell  itself  —  shall  stop  me  bringing  'em  along  to 
you."  Then  he  chuckled  in  an  unpleasant  manner.  "  Say, 
it  would  tickle  me  to  death  to  set  these  mutton-headed 
gophers  jumping  around.  You'll  get  those  kiddies  if  you 
need  'em,  if  I  have  to  blow  hell  into  this  mud-heap  of  a 
city." 

Jessie's  eyes  glowed  at  the  man's  note  of  savage  strength 
and  confidence.  She  knew  he  could  and  would  do  as  he 
said,  and  this  very  fact  yielded  her  to  him  more  surely  than 
any  other  display  could  have  done.  It  was  this  wonderful 
daring,  this  reckless,  savage  manhood  that  had  originally 
won  her.  He  was  so  different  from  all  others,  from  her 
puny  husband.  He  swept  her  along  and  dazzled  her.  Her 
own  virility  cried  out  fpr  such  a  mate,  and  no  moral  scruples 
could  hope  to  stay  so  strong  a  tide  of  nature. 

"You'll  do  it?"  she  cried  fervently.  Then  she  nodded 
joyously.  "  Yes,  yes,  you'll  do  it.  I  know  it.  Oh,  how 
good  you  are  to  me.  I  love  you,  Jim." 

Again  she  was  in  his  arms.  Again  his  kisses  fell  hot  and 
fast  upon  her  glowing  face.  Nature  was  rushing  a  strong 
flood  tide.  It  was  a  moment  that  could  have  no  repetition 
in  their  lives. 

They  stood  thus,  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  borne  along 
by  a  passion  that  was  beyond  their  control  —  lost  to  all  the 
world,  lost  to  all  those  things  which  should  have  mattered 
to  them.  It  was  the  fervid  outpouring  of  two  natures  which 
had  nothing  that  was  spiritual  in  them.  They  demanded 
the  life  of  the  senses,  and  so  strong  was  the  desire  that  they 
were  lost  to  all  else. 

Then  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  their  dream  came  the  dis- 


THE  HARVEST  OF  PASSION  33 

turbing  patter  of  small  feet  and  the  joyous,  innocent  laugh- 
ter of  infantile  glee.  Two  tiny  mud-stained  figures  rushed 
at  the  doorway  and  fell  sprawling  into  the  hut.  They  were 
on  their  feet  again  in  a  moment,  laughing  and  crowing  out 
their  delight.  Then,  as  the  man  and  woman  sprang  apart, 
they  stood  round-eyed,  wondering  and  gaping. 

Jamie  and  Vada  paused  only  till  the  grown-up  eyes  were 
turned  in  their  direction,  then  their  chorus  broke  out  in  one 
breath. 

"  We  got  fi'  'piders  — " 

"An' two  bugs!" 

The  important  information  was  fairly  shrieked,  to  the 
accompaniment  of  dancing  eyes  and  flushed  cheeks. 

Jessie  gasped.  But  her  emotion  was  not  at  the  news  so 
rudely  broken.  It  was  the  breaking  of  the  spell  which  had 
held  her.  Just  for  one  horrific  moment  she  stood  staring 
helplessly  at  the  innocent  picture  of  her  four-year-old  twins, 
beautiful  in  spite  of  their  grimy  exterior,  beautiful  as  a 
Heaven-inspired  picture  to  the  mother. 

The  man  smiled.  Nor  was  it  an  unpleasant  smile.  Per- 
haps, somewhere  in  his  savage  composition,  he  had  a 
grain  of  humor;  perhaps  it  was  only  the  foolish  smile  of 
a  man  whose  wits  are  not  equal  to  so  incongruous  a  situa- 
tion. 

"  They're  most  ev'ry  color,"  piped  Vada,  with  added 
excitement. 

"  Uh !  "  grunted  Jamie  in  agreement.  "  An'  the  bugs  has 
horns." 

But  the  man  had  recovered  himself.  The  interruption 
had  brought  with  it  a  realization  of  the  time  he  had  spent  in 
the  hut. 

"  You'd  best  go  and  find  more,"  he  said.  "  There's  heaps 
outside."  Then  he  turned  to  Jessie.  "  Come  on.  We 
must  be  going.  Have  you  got  the  things  you  need  ready?  " 

But   the   mother's    eyes    were   on   the   small    intruders. 


34         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Something  was  gripping  at  her  heart,  and  somehow  it  felt 
like  four  small  and  dirty  hands. 

"  Wher'  you  goin'  ? "  demanded  Vada,  her  childish 
curiosity  roused,  and  all  her  beautiful  spiders  forgotten  for 
the  moment. 

Her  question  remained  unanswered,  leaving  the  room  in 
ominous  silence.  Then  Jamie's  treble  blundered  into  its 
midst,  dutifully  echoing  his  sister's  inquiry. 

"'Es,  wher'youdoin'?" 

The  man's  eyes  were  narrowly  watching  the  woman's 
face.  He  noted  the  tremulous  lips,  the  yearning  light  in  her 
eyes.  In  a  moment  he  was  answering  the  children,  lest  their 
innocent  words  should  upset  his  plans. 

"  Say,  your  momma's  going  for  a  horse-ride.  She's  just 
going  right  out,  and  I'm  going  to  show  her  a  dandy  place 
where  she  can  fetch  you,  so  you  can  catch  heaps  an'  heaps 
of  bugs  and  spiders.  She's  just  wanting  you  to  stop  right 
here  and  catch  more  bugs,  till  I  come  along  and  fetch  you." 

"  O  —  oh !  "  cried  Vada,  prolonging  her  exclamation 
gleefully.  "  Say,  can't  us  go  now  ?  " 

"  Me  do  too,"  murmured  her  faithful  shadow. 

One  quick  glance  at  the  mother's  face  and  the  man  spoke 
again. 

"  Not  now,  kiddies.  I'll  come  and  fetch  you.  Run 
along."  Then  he  turned  swiftly  upon  Jessie.  "  Where's 
your  bundle  ?  "  he  asked  in  his  usual  masterful  manner. 

And  her  reply  came  in  a  tone  of  almost  heart-broken 
submission. 

"  In  there,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  at  the  inner  room. 

The  man  gave  her  no  time  to  add  anything  more.  He 
felt  the  ground  he  was  treading  was  more  than  shaky.  He 
knew  that  with  the  coming  of  these  children  a  tremendous 
power  was  militating  against  him  —  a  power  which  would 
need  all  his  wits  to  combat.  He  passed  into  the  inner  room, 
and  returned  in  a  moment  with  the  girl's  bundle.  And  with 


THE  HARVEST  OF  PASSION  35 

his  return  one  glance  showed  him  how  nearly  his  plans  were 
upset.  Jessie  was  clasping  Jamie  in  her  arms,  kissing  him 
hungrily,  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks,  while,  out  of 
sheer  sympathy,  little  Vada  was  clinging  to  her  mother's 
skirts,  her  small  face  buried  in  amongst  them,  sobbing  as 
though  her  heart  would  break. 

In  a  moment  he  was  at  her  side.  This  was  not  a  time 
when  any  drastic  methods  could  serve  him,  and  he  adopted 
the  only  course  which  his  shrewd  sense  told  him  would  be 
likely  to  avail.  Gently  but  firmly  he  took  the  boy  out  of 
her  arms. 

"  You  want  him  to  go  with  us  ?  "  he  said  kindly.  "  Very 
well.  Maybe  we're  doing  wrong  —  I  mean,  for  his  sake. 
Anyhow,  I'll  carry  him,  and  then  I'll  come  back  for  Vada. 
It's  not  good.  It's  too  hard  on  him,  carrying  him  all  that 
distance  —  too  dangerous.  Still,  I  want  you  to  be  happy, 
Jess.  I'd  do  anything  for  that,  even  —  even  at  his  expense. 
So—" 

"  No  —  no ! "  cried  the  mother,  carried  away  by  the  fear 
he  expressed  so  subtly,  and  warmed  by  his  carefully  ex- 
pressed sympathy.  "  Don't  take  any  notice  of  me.  I'm 
foolish  —  silly.  You're  right  —  he  —  he  couldn't  make  the 
journey  with  us.  No,  no,  we  —  won't  —  take  him  now. 
Set  him  down,  Jim.  I'll  go  now,  and  you'll  —  you'll  come 
back  for  them.  Yes,  yes,  let's  go  now.  I  —  I  can't  stay 
any  —  longer.  I've  left  a  letter  for  Zip.  Swear  I  shall 
have  them  both.  You'll  never  —  never  break  your  word  ? 
I  think  I'd  —  die  without  them." 

"  You  shall  have  them.  I  swear  it."  The  man  spoke 
readily  enough.  It  was  so  easy  to  promise  anything,  so  long 
as  he  got  her. 

But  his  oath  brought  neither  expression  of  gratitude  nor 
comment.  The  woman  was  beyond  mere  words.  She  felt 
that  only  flight  could  save  her  from  breaking  down  alto- 
gether. And,  thus  impelled,  she  tore  herself  from  the 


36         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

presence  of  the  children  and  rushed  out  of  the  hut.  The 
horses  were  down  at  the  creek,  and  thither  she  sped,  lest  her 
purpose  should  fail  her. 

James  followed  her.  He  felt  that  she  must  not  be  left 
by  herself  to  think.  But  at  the  door  he  paused  and  glanced 
keenly  around  him.  Then  he  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief. 
Not  a  living  soul  was  to  be  seen  anywhere.  It  was  good ; 
his  plans  had  worked  out  perfectly. 

He  set  Jamie  down,  and,  all  unconscious  of  the  little 
drama  being  played  round  his  young  life,  the  child  stretched 
out  a  chubby  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  soap-box  he  and 
his  sister  had  been  playing  with. 

"  Tiders,"  he.  observed  laconically. 

Vada  rushed  past  him  to  inspect  their  treasures,  her  tears 
already  dried  into  streaks  on  her  dirty  little  cheeks. 

"  An*  bugs,"  she  cried  gleefully,  squatting  beside  the  box. 

They  had  forgotten. 

The  man  hurried  away  down  towards  the  creek,  bearing 
the  pitiful  bundle  of  woman's  raiment.  The  girl  was  ahead, 
and,  as  she  again  came  into  his  view,  one  thought,  and  one 
thought  only,  occupied  his  mind.  Jessie  was  his  whole 
world  —  at  that  moment. 

He,  too,  had  forgotten. 

"  They've  runned  away,"  cried  Vada,  peering  into  the  box. 

"  Me  don't  like  'piders,"  murmured  Jamie  definitely. 

Vada's  great  brown  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Fresh  rivulets 
began  to  run  down  the  muddy  channels  on  her  downy  cheeks. 
Her  disappointment  found  vent  in  great  sobbing  gulps. 

Jamie  stared  at  her  in  silent  speculation.  Then  one  little 
fat  hand  reached  out  and  pushed  her.  She  rolled  over  and 
buried  her  wet  face  in  the  dusty  ground  and  howled  heart- 
brokenly.  Then  Jamie  crawled  close  up  beside  her,  and, 
stretching  himself  out,  wept  his  sympathy  into  the  back  of 
her  gaping  frock. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  AWAKENING  OF   SCIPIO 

AT  noon  the  camp  began  to  rouse.  The  heavy  eyes,  the 
languid  stretch,  the  unmeaning  contemplation  of  the  noon- 
tide sunlight,  the  slow  struggles  of  a  somnolent  brain. 
These  things  were  suggested  in  the  gradual  stirring  of  the 
place  to  a  ponderous  activity.  The  heavy  movement  of 
weary  diggers  as  they  lounged  into  camp  for  their  dinner 
had  no  suggestion  of  the  greedy  passion  which  possessed 
them.  They  had  no  lightness.  Whatever  the  lust  for  gold 
that  consumed  them,  all  their  methods  were  characterized 
by  a  dogged  endeavor  which  took  from  them  every  particle 
of  that  nervous  activity  which  belongs  to  the  finely  tem- 
pered business  man. 

The  camp  was  a  single  row  of  egregious  dwellings,  squat, 
uncouth,  stretching  away  on  either  side  of  the  veranda- 
fronted  store  and  "  gambling  hell  "  which  formed  a  sort  of 
center-piece  around  which  revolved  the  whole  life  of  the 
village.  It  was  a  poor,  mean  place,  shapeless,  evil-smelling 
in  that  pure  mountain  air.  It  was  a  mere  shelter,  a  rough 
perch  for  the  human  carrion  lusting  for  the  orgy  of  gold 
which  the  time-worn  carcass  of  earth  should  yield.  What 
had  these  people  to  do  with  comfort  or  refinement?  What 
had  they  to  do  with  those  things  calculated  to  raise  the  hu- 
man mind  to  a  higher  spiritual  plane?  Nothing.  All  that 
might  come  later,  when,  their  desires  satisfied,  the  weary 
body  sick  and  aching,  sends  fearful  thoughts  ahead  towards 
the  drab  sunset"  awaiting  them.  For  the  moment  the  full 
tide  of  youth  is  still  running  strong*.  Sickness  and  death 


38         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

have  no  terrors.  The  fine  strength  of  powerful  bodies  will 
not  allow  the  mind  to  focus  such  things. 

Out  of  the  rugged  hills  backing  the  camp  the  gold-seekers 
struggle  to  their  resting-place.  Here,  one  man  comes  clam- 
bering over  the  rough  bowlder-strewn  path  at  the  base  of  a 
forest-clad  hill.  Here,  an  atom  of  humanity  emerges  from 
the  depths  of  a  vast  woodland  that  dwarfs  all  but  the  tower- 
ing hills.  Another  toils  up  a  steep  hillside  from  the  sluggish 
creek.  Another  slouches  along  a  vague,  unmade  trail.  Yet 
another  scrambles  his  way  through  a  low,  dense-growing 
scrub  which  lines  the  sides  of  a  vast  ravine,  the  favored 
locality  of  the  gold-seeker. 

So  they  come,  one  by  one,  from  every  direction  radiating 
about  the  building,  which  is  Minky's  store.  Their  faces 
are  hard.  Their  skin  is  tanned  to  a  leathery  hue,  and  is  of 
a  texture  akin  to  hide.  They  are  silent,  thoughtful  men, 
too.  But  their  silence  is  of  the  vast  world  in  which  they 
delve,  and  their  thought  is  the  thought  of  men  absorbed  in 
their  quest.  No,  there  is  no  lightness,  even  in  their  happiest 
moments.  To  be  light,  an  intelligent  swiftness  of  brain  is 
needed.  And  these  derelicts  have  little  of  such.  Although, 
when  Minky's  spirit  has  circulated  its  poison  through 
their  veins,  they  are  sometimes  apt  to  assume  a  burlesque 
of  it. 

Now  the  camp  is  wide  awake.  But  it  is  only  the  wake- 
fulness  of  the  mother  who  is  roused  by  the  hungry  crying 
of  her  infant.  It  will  slumber  again  when  appetites  have 
been  duly  appeased. 

The  milk  of  human  kindness  is  soured  by  the  intense 
summer  heat.  The  men  are  "  grouchy."  They  jostle 
harshly  as  they  push  up  to  Minky's  counter  for  the 
"  appetizers  "  they  do  not  need.  Their  greetings  are  few, 
and  mostly  confined  to  the  abrupt  demand,  "Any  luck?" 
Then,  their  noon-day  drink  gulped  down,  they  slouch  off 
into  the  long,  frowsy  dining-room  at  the  back  of  the  store, 


THE  AWAKENING  OF  SCIPIO  39 

and  coarsely  devour  the  rough  fare  provided  by  the  buxom 
Birdie  Mason,  who  is  at  once  the  kindliest  and  worst  caterer 
imaginable. 

This  good-natured  sours  position  was  not  as  enviable  as 
one  might  reasonably  have  supposed.  The  only  woman  in 
a  camp  of  men,  any  one  of  whom  might  reasonably  strike  a 
fortune  in  five  minutes.  The  situation  suggests  possibilities. 
But,  alas,  Birdie  was  just  a  woman,  and,  in  consequence, 
from  a  worldly  point  of  view,  her  drawbacks  were  many. 
She  was  attractive  —  a  drawback.  She  was  given  to  a  natural 
desire  to  stand  first  with  all  men  —  another  drawback.  She 
was  eminently  sentimental  —  a  still  greater  drawback.  But 
greatest  of  all  she  was  a  sort  of  public  servant  in  her  posi- 
tion as  caterer,  and,  as  such,  of  less  than  no  account  from 
the  moment  the  "  beast "  had  been  satisfied. 

She  had  her  moments,  moments  when  the  rising  good- 
nature of  her  customers  flattered  her,  when  she  was  fussed 
over,  and  petted,  as  men  are  ever  ready  to  treat  an  attractive 
member  of  the  opposite  sex.  But  these  things  led  no- 
whither,  from  a  point  of  view  of  worldly  advantage,  and, 
being  just  a  woman,  warm-hearted,  uncalculating  and  pro- 
foundly illogical,  she  failed  to  realize  the  pitfalls  that  lay 
before  her,  the  end  which,  all  unsuspecting,  she  was  steadily 
forging  towards. 

Scipio,  like  the  rest,  came  into  camp  for  his  dinner.  His 
way  lay  along  the  bank  of  the  creek.  It  was  cooler  here, 
and,  until  he  neared  his  home,  there  were  no  hills  up  which 
to  drag  his  weary  limbs.  He  had  had,  as  usual,  an  utterly 
unprofitable  morning  amidst  the  greasy  ooze  of  his  claim. 
Yet  the  glitter  of  the  mica-studded  quartz  on  the  hillside, 
the  bright-green  and  red-brown  shading  of  the  milky-white 
stone  still  dazzled  his  mental  sight.  There  was  no  waver- 
ing in  his  belief.  These  toilsome  days  were  merely  the 
necessary  probation  for  the  culminating  achievement.  He 
assured  himself  that  gold  lay  hidden  there.  And  it  was  only 


40         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

waiting  for  the  lucky  strike  of  his  pick.  He  would  find  it. 
It  was  just  a  matter  of  keeping  on. 

In  his  simple  mind  he  saw  wonderful  visions  of  all  that 
final  discovery.  He  dreamt  of  the  day  when  he  should  be 
able  to  install  his  beautiful  Jessie  in  one  of  those  up-town 
palaces  in  New  York;  when  an  army  of  servants  should 
anticipate  her  every  desire;  when  the  twins  should  be 
launched  upon  the  finest  academies  the  country  possessed, 
to  gorge  their  young  minds  to  the  full  with  all  that  which 
the  minds  of  the  children  of  earth's  most  fortunate  must  be 
stored.  He  saw  his  Jessie  clad  in  gowns  which  displayed 
and  enhanced  all  those  beauties  with  which  his  devoted 
mind  endowed  her.  She  should  not  only  be  his  queen,  but 
the  queen  of  a  social  world,  which,  to  his  mind,  had  no 
rival.  And  the  happiness  of  such  dreams  was  beyond  com- 
pare. His  labor  became  the  work  of  a  love  which 
stimulated  his  puny  muscles  to  a  pitch  which  carried  him 
beyond  the  feeling  of  any  weariness.  For  himself  he 
wanted  nothing.  For  Jessie  and  the  twins  the  world  was 
not  great  enough  as  a  possession. 

And  was  she  not  worth  it?  Were  they  not  worth  it? 
Look  at  her,  so  splendid !  How  she  bore  with  him  and  all 
his  petty,  annoying  ways !  Her  disposition  was  not  of  this 
earth,  he  told  himself.  Would  any  other  woman  put  up 
with  his  ill-humors,  his  shortcomings?  He  realized  how 
very  trying  he  must  be  to  any  bright,  clever  woman.  He 
was  not  clever,  and  he  knew  it,  and  it  made  him  pity  Jessie 
for  the  lot  he  had  brought  her  to. 

And  the  twins.  Vada  was  the  image  of  her  mother.  The 
big,  round,  brown  eyes,  the  soft,  childish  mouth,  the  waving 
brown  hair.  And  Jamie.  He  had  her  eyes,  too,  and  her 
nose,  and  her  beautiful  coloring.  What  a  mercy  of 
Providence  neither  of  them  resembled  him.  But,  then,  how 
could  they,  with  such  a  mother?  How  it  delighted  him  to 
think  that  he  was  working  for  them,  for  her,  A  thrill  of 


THE  AWAKENING  OF  SCIPIO  41 

delight  swept  over  him,  and  added  a  spring  to  his  jaded  step. 
What  mattered  anything  else  in  the  world.  He  was  to  give 
them  all  that  which  the  world  counted  as  good.  He,  alone. 

But  it  was  not  yet.  For  a  moment  a  shadow  crossed 
his  radiant  face  as  he  toiled  up  the  hill  to  his  hut.  It  was 
gone  in  a  moment,  however.  How  could  it  stay  there  with 
his  thought  gilded  with  such  high  hopes?  It  was  not  yet, 
but  it  would  come  —  must  come.  His  purpose  was  in- 
vincible. He  must  conquer  and  wrench  this  wealth  which 
he  demanded  from  the  bosom  of  the  hard  old  earth.  And 
then  —  and  then  — 

"  Hello,  kiddies/'  he  cried  cheerily,  as  his  head  rose  above 
the  hilltop  and  his  hut  and  the  two  children,  playing  outside 
it,  came  into  his  view. 

"  Pop-pa !  "  shrieked  Vada,  dropping  a  paper  full  of  loose 
dirt  and  stones  upon  her  sprawling  brother's  back,  in  her 
haste  to  reach  her  diminutive  parent. 

"  Uh ! "  grunted  Jamie,  scrambling  to  his  feet  and  totter- 
ing heavily  in  the  same  direction. 

There  was  a  curious  difference  in  the  size  and  growth  of 
these  twins.  Probably  it  utterly  escaped  the  adoring  eyes 
of  their  father.  He  only  saw  the  reflected  glory  of  their 
mother  in  them.  Their  resemblance  to  her  was  all  that 
really  mattered  to  him,  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  this  resem- 
blance lay  chiefly  in  Vada.  She  was  like  her  mother  in  an 
extraordinary  degree.  She  was  well-grown,  strong,  and 
quite  in  advance  of  her  years,  in  her  speech  and  brightness 
of  intellect.  Little  Jamie,  while  he  possessed  much  of  his 
mother  in  his  face,  in  body  was  under-sized  and  weakly,  and 
his  mind  and  speech,  backward  of  development,  smacked  of 
his  father.  He  was  absolutely  dominated  by  his  sister,  and 
followed  her  lead  in  everything  with  adoring  rapture. 

Vada  reached  her  father  and  scrambled  agilely  up  into  his 
work-soiled  arms.  She  impulsively  hugged  his  yellow  head 
to  her  cheeks  with  both  her  arms,  so  that  when  Jamie  came 


42         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

up  he  had  to  content  himself  by  similarly  hugging  the  little 
man's  left  knee,  and  kissing  the  mud-stains  on  his  trousers 
into  liquid  patches. 

But  Scipio  was  impartial.  He  sat  Vada  down  and  picked 
her  brother  up.  Then,  taking  the  former's  hand  in  his 
horny  clasp,  bore  the  boy  towards  the  house. 

"  You  found  any  gold  ?  "  inquired  Vada,  repeating  a  ques- 
tion she  had  so  often  heard  her  mother  put. 

"  'Es  any  —  dold  ?  "  echoed  Jamie,  from  his  height  above 
Scipio's  head. 

"  No,  kiddies,"  the  man  replied,  with  a  slight  sigh. 

"  Oh,"  said  Vada.  But  his  answer  had  little  significance 
for  her. 

"  Where's  your  momma  ?  "  inquired  Scipio,  after  a  pause. 

"  Momma  do  hoss-ridin',"  replied  Jamie,  forestalling  his 
sister  for  once. 

"Yes,"  added  Vada.  "She  gone  ridin'.  An'  they'll 
come  an'  take  us  wher'  ther's  heaps  an'  heaps  o'  'piders,  an' 
—  an'  bugs  an'  things.  He  said  so  —  sure." 

"He?    Who?" 

They  had  reached  the  hut  and  Scipio  set  Jamie  on  the 
ground  as  he  put  his  question. 

"  The  dark  man,"  said  Vada  readily,  but  wrinkling  her 
forehead  struggling  for  the  name. 

"  Uh!  "  agreed  Jamie..    "  Mister  Dames." 

Just  for  a  moment  a  sharp  question  lit  Scipio's  pale  eyes. 
But  the  little  ones  had  no  understanding  of  it.  And  the 
next  moment,  as  their  father  passed  in  through  the  doorway, 
they  turned  to  the  sand  and  stone  castle  they  had  been 
laboriously  and  futilely  attempting  to  mold  into  some  shape. 

"  Now  you  bring  up  more  stones,"  cried  Vada  authori- 
tatively. "  Run  along,  dear,"  she  added  patronizingly,  as 
the  boy  stood  with  his  small  hands  on  his  hips,  staring 
vacantly  after  his  father. 


THE  AWAKENING  OF  SCIPIO  43 

Scipio  gazed  stupidly  about  the  living-room.  The  slop- 
stained  table  was  empty.  The  cookstove  fire  was  out. 
And,  just  for  a  second,  the  thought  flashed  through  his  mind 
—  had  he  returned  too  early  for  his  dinner  ?  No,  he  knew 
he  had  not.  It  was  dinner-time  all  right.  His  appetite  told 
him  that. 

For  the  moment  he  had  forgotten  what  the  children  had 
told  him.  His  simple  nature  was  not  easily  open  to  suspi- 
cion, therefore,  like  all  people  of  slow  brain,  this  startling 
break  in  the  routine  of  his  daily  life  simply  set  him  wonder- 
ing. He  moved  round  the  room,  and,  without  being  aware 
of  his  purpose,  lifted  the  curtain  of  turkey  red,  which 
served  as  a  door  to  the  rough  larder,  and  peered  in.  Then, 
as  he  let  the  curtain  fall  again,  something  stirred  within 
him.  He  turned  towards  the  inner  room,  and  his  mild  voice 
called  — 

"Jess." 

His  answer  was  a  hollow  echo  that  somehow  jarred  his 
nerves.  But  he  called  again  — 

"  Jess." 

Again  came  the  echo.  Then  Vada's  small  face  appeared 
round  the  door-casing. 

"  Mom-ma  gone  hoss-ridin',"  she  reminded  him. 

For  an  instant  Scipio's  face  flushed.  Then  it  paled  icily 
under  its  tan.  His  brain  was  struggling  to  grasp  something 
which  seemed  to  be  slowly  enveloping  him,  but  which  his 
honest  heart  would  not  let  him  believe.  He  stared  stupidly 
at  Vada's  dirty  face.  Then,  as  the  child  withdrew  to  her 
play,  he  suddenly  crossed  the  room  to  the  curtained  bedroom 
doorway.  He  passed  through,  and  the  flimsy  covering  fell- 
to  behind  him. 

For  a  space  the  music  of  childish  voices  was  the  only 
sound  to  break  the  stillness.  The  hum  of  buzzing  insects 
seemed  to  intensify  the  summer  heat.  For  minutes  no 


44         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

movement  came  from  the  bedroom.  It  was  like  the  dread 
silence  before  a  storm. 

A  strange  sound  came  at  last.  It  was  something  between 
a  moan  and  the  pained  cry  of  some  mild-spirited  animal 
stricken  to  death.  It  had  no  human  semblance,  and  yet  — 
it  came  from  behind  the  dingy  print  curtain  over  the  bed- 
room doorway. 

A  moment  later  the  curtain  stirred  and  the  ghastly  face 
of  Scipio  suddenly  appeared.  He  moved  out  into  the  living- 
room  and  almost  fell  into  the  Windsor  chair  which  had  last 
been  occupied  by  his  wife.  A  sheet  of  notepaper  was  in  his 
shaking  hand,  and  his  pale  eyes  were  staring  vacantly  at  it. 
He  was  not  reading.  He  had  read.  And  that  which  he  had 
read  had  left  him  dazed  and  scarcely  comprehending.  He 
sat  thus  for  many  minutes.  And  not  once  did  he  stir  a 
muscle,  or  lift  his  eyes  from  their  fixed  contemplation. 

A  light  breeze  set  the  larder  curtain  fluttering.  Scipio 
started.  He  stared  round  apprehensively.  Then,  as  though 
drawn  by  a  magnet,  his  eyes  came  back  to  the  letter  in  his 
hand,  and  once  more  fixed  themselves  upon  the  bold  hand- 
writing. But  this  time  there  was  intelligence  in  his  gaze. 
There  was  intelligence,  fear,  despair,  horror;  every  painful 
emotion  was  struggling  for  uppermost  place  in  mind  and 
heart.  He  read  again  carefully,  slowly,  as  though  trying 
to  discover  some  loophole  from  the  horror  of  what  was 
written  there.  The  note  was  short  —  so  short  —  there  was 
not  one  spark  of  hope  in  it  for  the  man  who  was  reading  it, 
not  one  expression  of  feeling  other  than  selfishness.  It  was 
the  death-blow  to  all  his  dreams,  all  his  desire. 

"  I've  gone  away.  I  shall  never  come  back.  I  can't 
stand  this  life  here  any  longer.  Don't  try  to  find  me,  for 
it's  no  use.  Maybe  what  I'm  doing  is  wicked,  but  I'm 
glad  I'm  doing  it.  It's  not  your  fault  —  it's  just  me.  I 
haven't  your  courage,  I  haven't  any  courage  at  all.  I  just 


THE  AWAKENING  OF  SCIPIO  45 

can't  face  the  life  we're  living.  I'd  have  gone  before  when 
he  first  asked  me  but  for  my  babies,  but  I  just  couldn't  part 
with  them.  Zip,  I  want  to  take  them  with  me  now,  but  I 
don't  know  what  Jim's  arrangements  are  going  to  be.  I 
must  have  them.  I  can't  live  without  them.  And  if  they 
don't  go  with  us  now  you'll  let  them  come  to  me  after, 
won't  you?  Oh,  Zip,  I  know  I'm  a  wicked  woman,  but  I 
feel  I  must  go.  You  won't  keep  them  from  me?  Let  me 
have  them.  I  love  them  so  bad.  I  do.  I  do.  Good-by 
forever. 

"  JESSIE." 

Mechanically  Scipio  folded  the  paper  again  and  sat 
grasping  it  tightly  in  one  clenched  hand.  His  eyes  were 
raised  and  gazing  through  the  doorway  at  the  golden  sun- 
light beyond.  His  lips  were  parted,  and  there  was  a  strange 
dropping  of  his  lower  jaw.  The  tanning  of  his  russet 
face  looked  like  a  layer  of  dirt  upon  a  super-whited  skin. 
He  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe,  so  still  he  sat.  As  yet 
his  despair  was  so  terrible  that  his  mind  and  heart  were 
numbed  to  a  sort  of  stupefaction,  deadening  the  horror  of 
his  pain. 

He  sat  on  for  many  minutes.  Then,  at  last,  his  eyes 
dropped  again  to  the  crushed  paper,  and  a  quavering  sigh 
escaped  him.  He  half  rose  from  his  seat,  but  fell  back  in  it 
again.  Then  a  sudden  spasm  seized  him,  and  flinging  him- 
self round  he  reached  out  his  slight,  tanned  arms  upon  the 
dirty  table,  and,  his  head  dropping  upon  them,  he  moaned 
out  the  full  force  of  his  despair. 

"  I  want  her !  "  he  cried.    "  Oh,  God,  I  want  her !  " 

But  now  his  slight  body  was  no  longer  still.  His  back 
heaved  with  mute  sobs  that  had  no  tears.  All  his  gentle 
soul  was  torn  and  bleeding.  He  had  not  that  iron  in  his 
composition  with  which  another  man  might  have  crushed 
down  his  feelings  and  stirred  himself  to  a  harsh  defense. 


46         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

He  was  just  a  warm,  loving  creature  of  no  great  strength 
beyond  his  capacity  for  human  affection  and  self-sacrifice. 
And  for  the  time  at  least,  his  sufferings  were  beyond  his 
control. 

In  the  midst  of  his  grief  two  little  faces,  and  two  pairs 
of  round,  wondering  eyes  appeared  in  the  doorway.  Two 
small  infantile  minds  worked  hard  at  the  sight  they  beheld. 
Vada,  whose  quickness  of  perception  was  so  much  in  ad- 
vance of  her  brother's,  murmured  in  his  ear  — 

"  Sleep." 

"  Uh,  seep,"  nodded  the  faithful  boy. 

Then  four  little  bare  feet  began  to  creep  into  the  room. 
Four  big  brown  eyes  shone  with  gleeful  anticipation.  Four 
chubby  arms  were  outstretched  as  though  claiming  the  vic- 
tim of  their  childish  prank.  Vada  led,  but  Jamie  was  close 
behind.  They  stole  in,  their  small  feet  making  not  the 
slightest  sound  as  they  tiptoed  towards  the  stricken  man. 
Each,  thrilling  with  excitement,  was  desperately  intent  upon 
frightening  him. 

"  Boo-h ! "  cried  Vada,  her  round  eyes  sparkling  as  she 
reached  Scipio's  side. 

"  Bo-oh ! "  echoed  Jamie  a  second  later,  chuckling  and 
gurgling  a  delight  he  had  no  other  means  of  expressing  at 
the  moment. 

Scipio  raised  his  haggard  face.  His  unsmiling  eyes,  so 
pale  and  unmeaning,  stared  stupidly  at  the  children.  And 
suddenly  the  merry  smile  died  out  of  the  young  faces,  and 
an  odd  contraction  of  their  brows  suggested  a  dawning  sym- 
pathy which  came  wholly  from  the  heart. 

"  You'se  cryin',  poppa,"  cried  Vada  impulsively. 

"  Uh,"  nodded  the  boy. 

And  thereupon  great  tears  welled  up  into  their  sympa- 
thetic eyes,  and  the  twins  wept  in  chorus.  And  somehow 
the  tears,  which  had  thus  far  been  denied  the  man,  now 
slowly  and  painfully  flooded  his  eyes.  He  groped  the  two 


THE  AWAKENING  OF  SCIPIO  47 

children  into  his  arms,  and  buried  his  face  in  the  soft  wavy 
hair  which  fell  in  a  tangle  about  the  girl's  head. 

For  some  moments  he  sat  thus,  something  of  his  grief 
easing  in  the  flood  of  almost  womanish  tears.  Until,  finally, 
it  was  Jamie  who  saved  the  situation.  His  sobs  died  out 
abruptly,  and  the  boy  in  him  stirred. 

"  Me  want  t'  eat,"  he  protested,  without  preamble. 

The  man  looked  up. 

"  Eat?  "  he  echoed  vaguely. 

"  Yes.  Dinner,"  explained  Vada,  whose  tears  were  still 
flowing,  but  who  never  failed  as  her  little  brother's 
interpreter. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  while  Scipio  stared  down  at 
the  two  faces  lifted  so  appealingly  to  his.  Then  a  change 
came  into  his  expressionless  eyes.  A  smoldering  fire  be- 
gan to  burn,  which  seemed  to  deepen  their  weakly  coloring. 
His  drawn  face  seemed  to  gather  strength.  And  somehow 
even  his  straw-colored  hair,  so  scanty,  ill-grown  and 
disheveled,  looked  less  like  the  stubble  it  so  much  resembled. 
It  was  almost  as  though  a  latent,  unsuspected  strength  were 
rousing  within  him,  lifting  him  from  the  slough  of  despair 
by  which  he  was  so  nearly  submerged.  It  was  as  though 
the  presence  of  his  twins  had  drawn  from  him  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  duty,  a  sense  which  was  so  strongly  and 
incongruously  developed  in  his  otherwise  uncertain  charac- 
ter, and  demanded  of  him  a  sacrifice  of  all  personal  inclina- 
tion. They  were  her  children.  Yes,  and  they  were  his. 
Her  children  —  her  children.  And  she  was  gone.  They 
had  no  one  to  look  to,  no  one  to  care  for  them  now,  but  — 
him. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Why,  yes,  kiddies,"  he  said,  with  a  painful  assumption 
of  lightness.  "  You're  needing  food  sure.  Say,  I  guess  we 
won't  wait  for  your  momma.  We'll  just  hand  her  an 
elegant  surprise.  We'll  get  dinner  ourselves." 


48         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Jamie  gurgled  his  joyous  approval,  but  Vada  was  more 
intelligible. 

"  Bully !  "  she  cried.  "  We'll  give  her  a  surprise."  Then 
she  turned  to  Jamie.  "  Surprise  is  when  folks  do  things 
that  other  folks  don't  guess  you're  going  to,  dear,"  she 
explained,  to  his  utter  confusion. 

Scipio  went  to  the  larder  and  gathered  various  scraps  of 
food,  and  plates,  and  anything  that  seemed  to  him  as  being 
of  any  possible  use  in  a  meal.  He  re-kindled  the  fire  in  the 
cookstove  and  made  some  coffee.  That  he  understood. 
There  was  no  sign  of  his  despair  about  him  now.  Perhaps 
he  was  more  than  usually  silent,  but  otherwise,  for  the  time 
at  least,  he  had  buried  his  trouble  sufficiently  deeply  out  of 
sight,  so  that  at  any  rate  the  inquiring  eyes  of  the  happy 
children  could  see  nothing  of  it. 

They,  too,  busied  themselves  in  the  preparation.  Vada 
dictated  to  her  father  with  never  flagging  tongue,  and  Jamie 
carried  everything  he  could  lift  to  and  fro,  regardless  of 
whether  he  was  bringing  or  taking  away.  Vada  chid  him 
in  her  childishly  superior  way,  but  her  efforts  were  quite 
lost  on  his  delicious  self-importance.  Nor  could  there  be 
any  doubt  that,  in  his  infantile  mind,  he  was  quite  assured 
that  his  services  were  indispensable. 

At  last  the  meal  was  ready.  There  was  nearly  everything 
of  which  the  household  consisted  upon  the  table  or  in  close 
proximity  to  it.  Then,  when  at  last  they  sat  down,  and 
Scipio  glanced  over  the  strange  conglomeration,  his  con- 
science was  smitten. 

"  Seems  to  me  you  kiddies  need  bread  and  milk,"  he  said 
ruefully.  "  But  I  don't  guess  there's  any  milk." 

Vada  promptly  threw  herself  into  the  breach. 

"  On'y  Jamie  has  bread  an'  milk,  pop-pa.  Y'see  his  new 
teeth  ain't  through.  Mine  is.  You  best  cut  his  up  into 
wee  bits." 

"  Sure,  of  course,"  agreed  Scipio   in  relief.     "  I'll  get 


THE  AWAKENING  OF  SC1PIO  49 

along  down  to  Minky's  for  milk  after,"  he  added,  while  he 
obediently  proceeded  to  cut  up  the  boy's  meat. 

It  was  a  strange  meal.  There  was  something  even  tragic 
in  it.  The  children  were  wildly  happy  in  the  thought  that 
they  had  shared  in  this  wonderful  surprise  for  their  mother. 
That  they  had  assisted  in  those  things  which  childhood  ever 
yearns  to  share  in  —  the  domestic  doings  of  their  elders. 

The  man  ate  mechanically.  His  body  told  him  to  eat, 
and  so  he  ate  without  knowing  or  caring  what.  His  dis- 
traught mind  was  traveling  swiftly  through  the  barren  paths 
of  hopelessness  and  despair,  while  yet  he  had  to  keep  his 
children  in  countenance  under  their  fire  of  childish  prattle. 
Many  times  he  could  have  flung  aside  his  mask  and  given 
up,  but  the  babyish  laughter  held  him  to  an  effort  such  as 
he  had  never  before  been  called  upon  to  make. 

When  the  meal  was  finished  Scipio  was  about  to  get 
up  from  his  chair,  but  Vada's  imperious  tongue  stayed 
him. 

"  We  ain't  said  grace,"  she  declared  complainingly. 

And  the  man  promptly  dropped  back  into  his  seat. 

"  Sure,"  he  agreed  helplessly. 

At  once  the  girl  put  her  finger-tips  together  before  her 
nose  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"  Thank  God  for  my  good  dinner,  Amen,  and  may  we 
help  fix  up  after?  "  she  rattled  off. 

"Ess,"  added  Jamie,  "tank  Dod  for  my  dood  dinner, 
Amen,  me  fix  up,  too." 

And  with  this  last  word  both  children  tumbled  almost 
headlong  from  the  bench  which  they  were  sharing.  Nor 
had  their  diminutive  parent  the  heart  to  deny  their  request. 

The  next  hour  was  perhaps  one  of  the  hardest  in  Scipio's 
life.  Nothing  could  have  impressed  his  hopeless  position 
upon  him  more  than  the  enthusiastic  assistance  so  cordially 
afforded  him.  While  the  children  had  no  understanding  of 
their  father's  grief,  while  with  every  heart-beat  they  glowed 


50         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

with  a  loving  desire  to  be  his  help,  their  every  act  was  an 
unconscious  stab  which  drove  him  until  he  could  have  cried 
aloud  in  agony. 

And  it  was  a  period  of  catastrophe.  Little  Vada  scalded 
her  hand  and  had  to  be  petted  back  to  her  normal  condition 
of  sunny  smiles.  Jamie  broke  one  of  the  few  plates,  and 
his  tears  had  to  be  banished  by  assurances  that  it  did  not 
matter,  and  that  he  had  done  his  father  a  kindness  by  rid- 
ding him  of  such  an  ugly  plate.  Then  Vada  stumbled  into 
the  garbage  pail  and  had  to  be  carefully  wiped,  while  Jamie 
smeared  his  sparse  hair  with  rancid  dripping  and  insisted  he 
was  "  Injun,"  vociferously  proclaiming  his  desire  to  "  talp  " 
his  sister. 

But  the  crowning  disaster  came  when  he  attempted  to 
put  his  threat  into  execution.  He  seized  a  bunch  of  her  hair 
in  his  two  chubby  hands  and  began  to  drag  her  round  the 
room.  Her  howls  drew  Scipio's  attention  from  his  work, 
and  he  turned  to  find  them  a  struggling  heap  upon  the  floor. 
He  dashed  to  part  them,  kicked  over  a  bucket  of  drinking 
water  in  his  well-meant  hurry,  and,  finally,  had  to  rescue 
them,  both  drenched  to  the  skin,  from  the  untimely  bath. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  strip  off  all  their  clothes 
and  dress  them  up  in  their  nightgowns,  for  as  yet  he  had 
no  knowledge  of  their  wardrobe,  and  send  them  out  to  get 
warm  in  the  sun,  while  he  dried  their  day-clothes  at  the 
cookstove. 

It  was  the  climax.  The  man  flung  himself  into  a  chair 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  The  mask  had  dropped 
from  him.  There  was  no  longer  any  need  for  pretense. 
Once  more  the  grief  and  horror  of  his  disaster  broke  through 
his  guard  and  left  him  helpless.  The  whole  world,  his  life, 
everything  was  engulfed  in  an  abyss  of  black  despair. 

He  was  dry-eyed  and  desperate.  But  now  somehow  his 
feelings  contained  an  emotion  that  the  first  shock  of  his  loss 
had  not  brought  him.  He  was  no  longer  a  prey  to  a  weak, 


THE  AWAKENING  OF  SCIPIO  51 

unresisting  submission,  the  grief  of  a  tortured  gentle  heart. 
There  was  another  feeling.  A  feeling  of  anger  and  resent- 
ment which  slowly  grew  with  each  moment,  and  sent 
the  hot  blood  surging  furiously  to  his  brain.  Nor  was  this 
feeling  directed  against  Jessie.  How  could  it  be  ?  He  loved 
her  so  that  her  cruel  desertion  of  him  appeared  to  be  a  mat- 
ter for  which  he  was  chiefly  to  blame.  Yes,  he  understood. 
He  was  not  the  husband  for  her.  How  could  it  be  other- 
wise? He  had  no  cleverness.  He  had  always  been  a 
failure.  No,  his  anger  was  not  against  Jessie.  It  was  the 
other.  It  was  the  man  who  had  robbed  him  of  all  he  cared 
for  in  the  world. 

His  anger  grew  hotter  and  hotter.  And  with  this  growing 
passion  there  came  an  absolute  revulsion  of  the  motive  force 
that  had  always  governed  him.  He  wanted  to  hurt.  He 
wanted  to  hurt  this  man,  Lord  James.  And  his  simple  mind 
groped  for  a  means  to  carry  out  his  desire.  He  began  to 
think  more  quickly  and  clearly,  and  the  process  brought  him 
a  sort  of  cold  calmness.  Again  his  grief  was  thrust  out 
of  his  focus,  and  all  his  mental  energy  was  concentrated 
upon  his  desire.  And  he  conjured  up  a  succession  of 
pictures  of  the  tortures  and  sufferings  he  desired  for  this 
villain  who  had  so  wronged  him. 

But  the  pictures  were  too  feeble  and  wholly  inadequate 
to  satisfy.  So  gentle  was  his  nature,  that,  even  stirred  as 
he  was,  he  could  not  conceive  a  fitting  punishment  for  so 
great  an  offense.  He  felt  his  own  inadequacy,  his  own 
feebleness  to  cope  with  the  problem  before  him,  and  so  he 
sat  brooding  impotently. 

It  was  all  useless.  And  as  the  minutes  slipped  by  his 
anger  began  to  die  out,  merging  once  more  into  the  all- 
absorbing  grief  that  underlay  it.  He  was  alone.  Alone! 
He  would  never  see  her  again.  The  thought  chilled  him  to 
a  sudden  nervous  dread.  No,  no,  it  was  not  possible.  She 
would  come  back.  She  must  come  back.  Yes,  yes.  She 


52         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

was  his  Jessie.  His  beautiful  Jessie.  She  belonged  to  him. 
And  the  children.  She  loved  them.  How  she  loved  them. 
They  were  theirs.  Yes,  she  would  come  back.  Maybe  she 
would  come  back  at  supper-time.  She  would  understand  by 
then.  Because  she  was  good,  and  —  and  kind,  and  —  No, 
no,  Fate  could  never  be  so  cruel  as  to  take  her  from  him. 

He  rose  and  paced  the  floor  with  nervous,  uneven  strides. 
He  plunged  his  hand  into  his  coat  pocket  and  drew  out  the 
letter  again.  He  re-read  it,  with  hot  eyes  and  straining 
thought.  Every  word  seemed  to  sear  itself  upon  his  poor 
brain,  and  drive  him  to  the  verge  of  distraction.  Why? 
Why?  And  he  raised  his  bloodshot  eyes  to  the  roof  of  his 
hut,  and  crushed  the  paper  in  one  desperate  hand. 

Then  suddenly  he  started.  His  pale  eyes  took  on  a 
furtive  frightened  expression.  He  glanced  fearfully  round 
the  room  as  though  someone  was  in  hiding  to  surprise  his 
inspiration.  Yes,  that  was  it.  Why  not?  He  was  not 
afraid.  He  was  afraid  of  no  one.  Yes,  yes,  he  had  the 
means.  He  must  make  the  opportunity.  She  was  his.  No 
one  else  had  a  right  to  her.  It  was  justifiable.  It  was  no 
more  than  justice. 

He  moved  towards  the  inner  room.  He  was  less  furtive 
now.  His  purpose  had  startled  him  at  first,  but  now  he  was 
convinced  it  was  right.  To  a  man  of  his  character  his 
resolve  once  taken  there  was  only  one  thing  to  do  —  to  carry 
it  out. 

He  passed  into  the  bedroom,  and,  in  a  few  moments, 
reappeared.  Now  he  was  bearing  something  in  his  hand. 
He  held  it  carefully,  and  in  his  eyes  was  something  like 
terror  of  what  he  held.  The  thing  he  carried  was  an  old- 
fashioned  revolver.  It  was  rusty.  But  it  had  a  merciless 
look  about  it.  He  turned  it  up  gingerly.  Then  he  opened 
the  breach,  and  loaded  all  the  six  chambers.  Then  he 
carefully  bestowed  it  in  his  coat  pocket,  where  it  bulged 
obtrusively. 


THE  AWAKENING  OF  SCIPIO  53 

Now  he  moved  to  the  open  doorway,  and  somehow  his 
original  furtiveness  had  returned  to  him.  Here  he  paused 
as  the  voices  of  the  twins  reached  and  held  him.  They  were 
still  playing  in  the  sun,  banking  up  the  sand  and  stones  in 
their  futile  attempt  at  castle  building.  He  breathed  hard, 
as  though  summoning  up  all  his  decision.  Then  he  spoke. 

"  Say,  kiddies,"  he  said  firmly.  "  I'll  be  right  back  at 
supper." 

And  he  moved  out  without  another  look  in  their  direc- 
tion, and  walked  off  in  the  direction  of  Minky's  store. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SCIPIO   BORROWS  A   HORSE 

SCIPIO  found  an  almost  deserted  camp  after  floundering 
his  way  over  the  intricate  paths  amongst  the  refuse-heaps. 

The  miners  had  departed  to  their  claims  with  a  punctual- 
ity that  suggested  Trades  Union  principles.  Such  was  their 
existence.  They  ate  to  live ;  they  lived  to  work,  ever  track- 
ing the  elusive  metal  to  the  earth's  most  secret  places.  The 
camp  claimed  them  only  when  their  day's  work  was  done ; 
for  the  rest,  it  supported  only  their  most  urgent  needs. 

Sunny  Oak,  lounging  on  a  rough  bench  in  the  shadiest 
part  of  the  veranda  facing  Minky's  store,  raised  a  pair  of 
heavy  eyelids,  to  behold  a  dejected  figure  emerge  from 
amidst  the  "  dumps."  The  figure  was  bearing  towards  the 
store  in  a  dusty  cloud  which  his  trailing  feet  raised  at  every 
step.  His  eyes  opened  wider,  and  interested  thought  stirred 
in  his  somnolent  brain.  He  recognized  the  figure  and  won- 
dered. Scipio  should  have  been  out  on  his  claim  by  this 
time,  like  the  rest. 

The  lean  long  figure  of  the  lounger  propped  itself  upon 
its  elbow.  Curiously  enough,  lazy  as  he  was,  the  smallest 
matter  interested  him.  Had  he  suddenly  discovered  a  beetle 
moving  on  the  veranda  he  would  have  found  food  for  re- 
flection in  its  doings.  Such  was  his  mind.  A  smile  stole 
into  his  indolent  eyes,  a  lazy  smile  which  spoke  of  tolerant 
good-humor.  He  turned  so  that  his  voice  might  carry  in 
through  the  window  which  was  just  behind  him. 

"  Say,  Bill,"  he  cried,  "  here's  Zip  comin'  down  the  trail." 

As  though  his  announcement  were  sufficient  to  rouse  an 


SCIPIO  BORROWS  A  HORSE  55 

equal  interest  in  those  inside  the  store,  he  returned  again  to 
his  contemplation  of  the  approaching  figure. 

"  What's  he  doin'  around  camp  this  hour  ?  "  inquired  a 
harsh  voice  from  beyond  the  window. 

"  Guess  I  ain't  a  lightnin'  calc'lator,"  observed  Sunny, 
without  withdrawing  his  gaze. 

"  Nope,"  came  the  prompt  retort  from  the  invisible 
speaker ;  "  guess  it  'ud  keep  you  busy  trackin'  a  fun'ral." 

"  Which  don't  need  contradiction !  I'm  kind  o'  makin' 
holiday  these  times.  Guess  you  ain't  never  heerd  tell  o'  the 
'  rest  cure  '  ?  " 

A  rough  laugh  broke  on  the  drowsy  atmosphere. 

"  Sunny's  overworked  just  now,"  said  another  voice, 
amidst  the  rattle  of  poker  chips. 

"  Wher'  you  bin  workin',  Sunny  ?  "  inquired  the  harsh 
voice  of  the  man  addressed  as  Bill. 

"  Workin' !  "  cried  the  loafer,  with  good-natured  scorn. 
"  Say,  I  don't  never  let  a  hobby  interfere  with  the  bizness 
of  life." 

A  half-smothered  laugh  answered  him.  Even  the  exigen- 
cies of  a  poker  hand  could  not  quite  crush  out  the  natural 
humor  of  these  men,  who  always  followed  on  the  golden 
trail  of  the  pioneers. 

"  Say,  what's  your  bizness  ? "  demanded  another  voice 
presently. 

"  Restin' !  "  the  man  on  the  veranda  answered  easily. 

The  shuffle  of  cards  and  rattle  of  chips  came  with  a 
snigger.  And  the  answering  lazy  smile  of  Sunny  Oak  was 
good  to  see.  It  lit  his  unshaven  face  from  his  unwashed 
brow  to  his  chin.  And  to  an  onlooker  it  might  well  have 
appeared  a  pity  that  an  intense  bodily  indolence  should  so 
dominate  his  personality.  He  looked  vastly  capable,  both 
mentally  and  physically. 

But  his  eyes  never  left  the  on-coming  Scipio.  The  little 
man  moved  with  bowed  head  and  trailing  footsteps.  The 


56        THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

utter  dispiritedness  of  his  gait  stirred  even  the  self-centered 
watcher.  But  Scipio  saw  nothing  of  Sunny  Oak.  He  saw 
nothing  of  anything  but  the  despairing  picture  in  his  own 
mind.  The  ramshackle  shanties  which  lined  one  side  of  the 
trail  were  passed  unheeded.  The  yapping  of  the  camp  dogs 
at  the  unusual  sight  of  so  deplorable  a  figure  at  this  hour  of 
the  day  was  quite  unnoticed  by  him.  The  shelving  rise  of 
attenuated  grass-land  which  blocked  the  view  of  Suffering 
Creek  on  his  left  never  for  a  moment  came  into  his  focus. 
His  eyes  were  on  the  trail  ahead  of  him,  and  never  more 
than  a  few  feet  from  where  he  trod.  And  those  eyes  were 
hot  and  staring,  aching  with  their  concentration  upon  the 
hideous  picture  which  filled  his  brain. 

As  Scipio  drew  near  Sunny  Oak  further  bestirred  him- 
self, which  was  a  concession  not  often  yielded  by  that  indi- 
vidual to  anyone.  He  sat  up,  and  his  smile  broadened. 
Then  it  faded  out  as  he  beheld  the  usually  mild  expression 
of  the  yellow-haired  prospector  now  so  set  and  troubled. 
»  "  Gee ! "  he  murmured  in  an  undertone.  Then,  with  an 
evident  effort,  he  offered  a  greeting. 

"  Ho,  you,  Zip !  Drawn  a  blank  way  up  ther'  on  your 
mud-bank  ?  " 

Scipio  looked  up  in  a  dazed  fashion.  Then  he  halted  and 
seemed  to  pull  himself  together.  Finally  he  spoke. 

"  Howdy?  "  he  said  in  a  mechanical  sort  of  way. 

"  Guess  I'm  a  heap  better,"  responded  Sunny,  with 
twinkling  eyes. 

Scipio  gazed  up  at  the  store  in  a  bewildered  way.  He 
saw  the  great  letters  in  which  Minky's  name  and  occupation 
were  inscribed  on  its  pretentious  front,  and  it  seemed  to 
bring  back  his  purpose  to  his  distracted  mind.  Instantly  the 
other's  words  became  intelligible  to  him,  and  his  native 
kindliness  prompted  him. 

"  You  been  sick  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Wai,    not    rightly    sick,    but  —  ailinV     Sunny's    smile 


SCIPIO  BORROWS  A  HORSE  57 

broadened  till  a  mouthful  of  fairly  decent  teeth  showed 
through  the  fringe  of  his  ragged  mustache. 

"Ailin'?" 

"  Yep.     Guess  I  bin  overdoin'  it." 

"  It  don't  do,  working  too  hard  in  the  heat,"  said  Scipio 
absently. 

"  Sure,"  replied  Sunny.  "  It's  been  a  hard  job  avoidin'  it. 
Ther's  allus  folk  ready  to  set  me  workin'.  That's  just  the 
way  o'  things.  What  I  need  is  rest.  Say,  you  ain't 
workin'  ?  " 

Scipio  started. 

"  No.     I'm  looking  for  Wild  Bill." 

Sunny  Oak  jerked  his  head  backwards  in  the  direction  of 
the  window. 

"  Guess  he's  at  work  — in  therV 

"  Thanks." 

Scipio  mounted  the  veranda  and  passed  along  to  the  door 
of  the  store.  Sunny's  eyes  followed  him,  but  he  displayed 
no  other  interest.  With  ears  and  brain  alert,  however,  he 
waited.  He  knew  that  all  he  required  to  know  would  reach 
him  through  a  channel  that  was  quite  effortless  to  himself. 
Again  he  stretched  himself  out  on  the  bench,  and  his  twin- 
kling eyes  closed  luxuriously. 

Minky's  store  was  very  little  different  from  other  plaoes  of 
its  kind.  He  sold  everything  that  could  possibly  be  needed 
in  a  newly  started  mining  camp.  He  did  not  confine  himself 
to  hardware  and  clothing  and  canned  goods,  but  carried  a 
supply  of  drugs,  stationery  and  general  dry  goods,  besides 
liquor  in  ample  quantities,  if  of  limited  quality.  There  was 
rye  whisky,  there  was  gin,  and  there  was  some  sort  of 
French  brandy.  The  two  latter  were  in  the  smallest 
quantities.  Rye  was  the  staple  drink  of  the  place. 

The  walls  of  the  store  were  lined  with  shelves  on  every 
side,  and  the  shelves  were  full,  even  overflowing  to  a  piled- 
up  confusion  of  goods  which  were  stacked  around  on  the 


58         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

floor.  In  the  somewhat  limited  floor-space  there  were  tables 
and  benches  which  could  be  used  for  the  dual  purpose  of 
drink  and  cards.  But  wherein  Minky's  store  was  slightly 
out  of  the  usual  was  the  fact  that  he  was  not  a  Jew,  and 
adopted  no  Jewish  methods  of  trading.  He  was  scrupu- 
lously honest  with  his  customers,  and  fairly  moderate  in  his 
charges,  relying  on  this  uncommon  integrity  and  temperate- 
ness  of  disposition  to  make  personal  liking  the  basis  of  his 
commercial  success. 

It  was  perhaps  a  much  further-sighted  policy  than  one 
would  suppose.  Several  men  had  endeavored  to  start  in  the 
store  business  in  opposition  to  him,  but  in  each  case  their 
enterprise  had  proved  an  utter  failure.  Not  a  man  in  the 
place  would  trade  elsewhere.  Minky  was  just  "  Minky," 
whom  they  liked  and  trusted.  And,  what  was  much  more 
to  the  point,  who  was  ever  ready  to  "  trust "  them. 

Wild  Bill  was  at  the  poker  table  with  Minky,  Sandy  Joyce 
and  Toby  Jenks  when  Scipio  entered  the  place.  He  was  a 
gambler  out  and  out.  It  was  his  profession.  He  was 
known  as  Wild  Bill  of  Abilene,  a  man  whose  past  was  never 
inquired  into  by  even  the  most  youthful  new-comer,  whose 
present  was  a  thing  that  none  ever  saw  sufficient  reason  to 
question,  and  whose  future  suggested  nothing  so  much  as 
the  general  uncertainty  of  things  human.  He  was  a  man  of 
harsh  exterior  and,  apparently,  harsh  purpose.  His  eyes 
were  steely  and  his  tongue  ironical ;  he  possessed  muscles  of 
iron  and  a  knowledge  of  poker  and  all  its  subtleties  that  had 
never  yet  failed  him.  He  was  a  dead  shot  with  a  pistol,  and, 
in  consequence,  fear  and  respect  were  laid  at  his  feet  by  his 
fellow-townsmen.  He  was  also  Minky's  most  treasured 
friend. 

Sandy  Joyce  had  to  his  credit  a  married  past,  which  some- 
how gave  him  a  certain  authority  in  the  place.  He  was 
expected  to  possess  a  fund  of  wisdom  in  matters  worldly, 
and  he  did  his  best  to  live  up  to  this  demand.  He  was  also, 


SCIPIO  BORROWS  A  HORSE  59 

by  the  way,  an  ex-cowpuncher  suffering  from  gold  fever, 
and  between  whiles  played  poker  with  Wild  Bill  until  he  had 
lost  the  result  of  his  more  regular  labors.  He  was  a  slight, 
tall,  bright-eyed  man  of  thirty,  with  an  elaborate  flow  of 
picturesque  language.  He  was  afraid  of  no  man,  but  all 
women. 

Toby  Jenks  was  as  short  and  squat  as  his  friends  were 
long  and  thin.  He  was  good-tempered,  and  spent  large 
remittances  which  reached  him  at  regular  intervals  in  the 
lulls  which  occurred  in  his  desultory  search  for  gold. 

Minky,  a  plain,  large  man  of  blunt  speech  and  gruff  man- 
ners, looked  up  swiftly  as  Scipio  entered,  and  a  moment 
later  three  more  pairs  of  eyes  were  fixed  inquiringly  upon 
the  new-comer. 

"  Struck  color  ? "  inquired  Minky,  with  his  gruffest 
cordiality. 

"  No." 

Scipio's  entire  attitude  had  distinctly  undergone  a  change 
since  Sunny  Oak's  lazy  eyes  first  discovered  his  approach. 
Where  before  the  hopelessness  of  despair  had  looked  out 
from  every  line  of  his  mild  face,  now  his  mouth  was  set 
obstinately,  and  a  decided  thrust  to  his  usually  retiring  chin 
became  remarkable.  Even  his  wispy  hair  had  an  aggression 
in  the  manner  in  which  it  obtruded  from  under  the  brim  of 
his  slouch  hat.  His  eyes  were  nearly  defiant,  yet  there  was 
pleading  in  them,  too.  It  was  as  if  he  were  sure  of  the 
Tightness  of  his  purpose,  but  needed  encouragement  in  its 
execution. 

For  the  moment  the  poker  game  was  stopped,  a  fact  which 
was  wholly  due  to  the  interest  of  the  steely  eyes  of  Wild 
Bill. 

"  Layin'  off?"  inquired  the  gambler,  without  a  moment's 
softening. 

"  Guess  you're  passin'  on  that  mud  lay-out  of  yours,"  sug- 
gested Sandy,  with  a  laugh. 


60         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Scipio  shook  his  head,  and  his  lips  tightened. 

"  No.     I  want  to  borrow  a  good  horse  from  Bill  here." 

The  gambler  set  down  the  cards  he  had  been  shuffling. 
The  statement  seemed  to  warrant  his  action.  He  sat  back 
in  his  chair  and  bit  a  chew  of  tobacco  off  a  black  plug. 
Minky  and  the  others  sat  round  and  stared  at  the  little  man 
with  unfeigned  interest. 

"  You're  iieedin'  a  hoss  ? "  demanded  Bill,  without  at- 
tempting to  disguise  his  surprise.  "  What  for?  " 

Scipio  drew  a  hand  across  his  brow;  a  beady  sweat  had 
broken  out  upon  it. 

"  Oh,  nothing  to  bother  folk  with,"  he  said,  with  a  painful 
attempt  at  indifference.  "I've  got  to  hunt  around  and  find 
that  feller,  '  Lord  '  James." 

A  swift  glance  flashed  round  the  table  from  eye  to  eye. 
Then  Sunny  Oak's  voice  reached  them  from  beyond  the 
window  — 

"  Guess  you've  a  goodish  ways  to  travel." 

"  Time  enough,"  said  Scipio  doggedly. 

"  What  you  need  to  find  him  for  ? "  demanded  Wild 
Bill,  and  there  was  a  change  in  the  glitter  of  his  fierce 
eyes.  It  was  not  that  they  softened,  only  now  they  had  the 
suggestion  of  an  ironical  smile,  which,  in  him,  implied  curi- 
osity. 

Scipio  shifted  his  feet  uneasily.  His  pale  eyes  wandered 
to  the  sunlit  window.  One  hand  was  thrust  in  his  jacket 
pocket,  and  the  fingers  of  it  fidgeted  with  the  rusty  metal  of 
the  gun  that  bulged  its  sides.  This  pressure  of  interrogation 
was  upsetting  the  restraint  he  was  putting  on  himself.  All 
his  grief  and  anger  were  surging  uppermost  again.  With  a 
big  effort,  which  was  not  lost  upon  his  shrewd  audience,  he 
choked  down  his  rising  emotion. 

"  Oh,  I  —  I'd  like  to  pay  him  a  '  party  call,'  "  he  blurted 
out. 

Minky  was  about  to  speak,  but  Wild  Bill  kept  him  silent 


SCIPIO  BORROWS  A  HORSE  61 

with  a  sharp  glance.     An  audible  snigger  came  from  beyond 
the  window. 

"  Guess  you  know  jest  wher'  you'll  locate  him?  "  inquired 
the  gambler. 

"  No,  but  I'm  going  to  find  him,  sure,"  replied  Scipio 
doggedly.  Then  he  added,  with  his  eyes  averted,  "  Guess  I 
shan't  let  up  till  I  do." 

There  was  a  weak  sparkle  in  the  little  man's  eyes. 

"  What's  your  game?  "  rasped  Bill  curiously. 

"  Oh,  just  nothin'." 

The  reply  caused  a  brief  embarrassed  pause.  Then  the 
gambler  broke  it  with  characteristic  force. 

"  An'  f er  that  reason  you're  —  carryin'  a  gun,"  he  said, 
pointing  at  the  man's  bulging  pocket. 

Sandy  Joyce  ceased  stacking  his  "  chips  " ;  Toby  squared 
his  broad  shoulders  and  drained  an  already  empty  glass. 
Minky  blinked  his  astonishment,  while  Wild  Bill  thrust  his 
long  legs  out  and  aggressively  pushed  his  hat  back  on  his 
head.  It  was  at  that  moment  that  curiosity  overcame  Sunny 
Oak's  habitual  indolence,  and  his  face  appeared  over  the 
window-sill. 

"  He's  stole  from  me,"  said  Scipio  in  a  low  tone. 

"  What's  he  stole  ?  "  demanded  the  gambler  savagely. 

"  My  wife." 

The  stillness  of  the  room  remained  unbroken  for  some 
moments.  Actions  came  far  easier  to  these  men  than  mere 
words.  Scipio's  words  had  a  paralyzing  effect  upon  their 
powers  of  speech,  and  each  was  busy  with  thoughts  which 
they  were  powerless  to  interpret  into  words.  "  Lord " 
James  was  a  name  they  had  reason  to  hate.  It  was  a  name 
synonymous  with  theft,  and  even  worse  —  to  them.  He  had 
stolen  from  their  community,  which  was  unforgivable,  but 
this  —  this  was  something  new  to  them,  something  which 
did  not  readily  come  into  their  focus.  Wild  Bill  was  the 
first  to  recover  himself. 


62         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  How  d'you  know  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  wrote  telling  me." 

"  She  went  'cos  she  notioned  it  ?  "  inquired  Sandy. 

"  He's  stole  her  —  he's  stole  my  Jessie,"  said  Scipio  sul- 
lenly. 

"An'  you're  goin'  to  fetch  her  back?"  Bill's  question 
whipped  the  still  air. 

"  Sure  —  she's  mine." 

Scipio's  simplicity  and  single-mindedness  brought  forth  a 
sigh  of  intense  feeling  from  his  hearers. 

"How?"  Wild  Bill's  method  of  interrogation  had  a 
driving  effect. 

"  She's  mine,  an' —  I'm  going  to  get  her  back."  There 
was  pity  at  the  man's  obstinate  assertion  in  every  eye  except 
Wild  Bill's. 

"  Say,  Zip,  he'll  kill  you,"  said  the  gambler,  after  a 
pause. 

"  She's  my  wife.  She's  mine,"  retorted  Scipio  intensely. 
"  An'  I'll  shoot  him  dead  if  he  refuses  to  hand  her 
over." 

"  Say,"  the  gambler  went  on,  ignoring  the  man's  protest  — 
the  idea  of  Scipio  shooting  a  man  like  James  was  too  ludi- 
crous — "  you're  up  agin  a  bad  proposition,  sure.  James  has 
stole  your  —  wife.  He's  stole  more.  He's  a  stage-robber," 

"  A  cattle-thief,"  broke  in  Sandy. 

"  A  '  bad  man '  of  the  worst,"  nodded  Minky. 

"  He's  all  these,  an'  more,"  went  on  Bill,  scowling. 
"  He's  a  low-down  skunk,  he's  a  pestilence,  he's  a  murderer. 
You're  goin'  to  hunt  him  back  ther'  to  his  own  shack  in 
the  foothills  with  his  gang  of  toughs  around  him,  an'  you're 
goin'  to  make  him  hand  back  your  wife.  Say,  you're  sure 
crazy.  He'll  kill  you.  He'll  blow  your  carkis  to  hell,  an' 
charge  the  devil  freightage  for  doin'  it." 

There  was  a  look  of  agreement  in  the  eyes  that  watched 
Scipio's  mild  face.  There  was  more:  there  was  sympathy 


SCIPIO  BORROWS  A  HORSE  63 

and  pity  for  him,  feelings  in  these  men  for  which  there  was 
no  other  means  of  expression. 

But  Scipio  was  unmoved  from  his  purpose.  His  underlip 
protruded  obstinately.  His  pale  eyes  were  alight  with 
purpose  and  misery. 

"  He's  stole  my  —  Jessie,"  he  cried,  "  an'  I  want  her  back." 
Then,  in  a  moment,  his  whole  manner  changed,  and  his 
words  came  with  an  irresistible  pleading.  Hard  as  was  the 
gambler,  the  pathos  of  it  struck  a  chord  in  him  the  existence 
of  which,  perhaps,  even  he  was  unaware. 

"  You'll  lend  me  a  horse,  Bill  ? "  the  little  man  cried. 
"  You  will,  sure  ?  I  got  fifty  dollars  saved  for  the  kiddies' 
clothes.  Here  it  is,"  he  hurried  on,  pulling  out  a  packet  of 
bills  from  his  hip  pocket.  "  You  take  'em  and  keep  'em 
against  the  horse.  It  ain't  sufficient,  but  it's  all  I  got.  I'll 
pay  the  rest  when  I've  made  it,  if  your  horse  gets  hurted. 
I  will,  sure.  Say,"  he  added,  with  a  happy  inspiration,  "  I'll 
give  you  a  note  on  my  claim  —  ha'f  of  it.  You'll  do  it? 
You  — " 

Bill's  face  went  suddenly  scarlet.  Something  made  him 
lower  his  eyelids.  It  was  as  though  he  could  not  look  on 
that  eager  face  unmoved  any  longer.  Somehow  he  felt  in  a 
vague  sort  of  way  that  poor  Scipio's  spirit  was  altogether  too 
big  for  his  body.  Bigger  by  far  than  that  of  those  sitting 
there  ready  to  deride  his  purpose,  and  crush  it  to  a  weak 
yielding  such  as,  in  their  minds,  was  the  only  possible  thing 
for  a  man  of  his  like. 

"  You  set  them  bills  right  back  in  your  dip,"  he  cried, 
with  a  savageness  that  was  only  a  mask  to  his  real  feelings ; 
"  I  don't  need  'em.  You  ken  get  right  out  to  the  barn  an' 
have  your  pick  o'  my  plugs,  an'  anythin'  you  need  else. 
Guess  you  best  take  the  black  mare.  She'll  carry  you  all 
day  for  a  week,  sure,  an'  then  laff  at  you.  Get  right  on,  an' 
—  an' —  good  luck !  " 

There  are  actions  performed  in  every  man's  life  for  which 


64         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

he  can  never  account,  even  to  himself.  Such  was  the  act 
Wild  Bill  performed  at  that  moment.  Gambling  was  his 
living,  but  his  horses  were  a  passion  with  him.  He  pos- 
sessed, perhaps,  some  of  the  finest  in  the  country,  and  he 
worshiped  them.  He  had  never  been  known  to  lend  a 
horse  to  his  best  friend,  and  no  one  but  himself  had  ever 
been  allowed  to  feed  or  groom  them.  He  was  prouder  of 
them  than  a  father  might  be  of  his  firstborn  son,  and  as 
careful  of  them  as  any  doting  mother.  Therefore  his  assent 
to  Scipio's  request  was  quite  staggering  to  his  companions. 
Nor  did  he  know  why  he  did  it,  and  a  furious  anger  followed 
immediately  upon  this  unusual  outburst  of  good-nature. 

Scipio  was  profuse  in  his  thanks.  But  he  was  cut  short 
with  a  violence  that  seemed  quite  unnecessary.  For  the 
moment,  at  least,  Bill  hated  the  little  man  almost  as  much 
as  he  hated  this  "  Lord "  James  he  was  setting  out  in 
search  of. 

After  that  no  word  passed  until  Scipio  had  left  the  store 
for  the  barn.  Bill  sat  wrapt  in  moody  thought,  his  fierce 
eyes  lowered  in  contemplation  of  his  well-shod  feet.  His 
cards  were  forgotten,  the  men  around  him  were  forgotten. 
Sandy  and  the  storekeeper  were  watching  his  harsh  face  in 
wonder,  while  Toby's  head  was  turned  in  the  direction  of 
the  departing  man.  It  was  Sunny  Oak  from  his  post  at  the 
window  who  finally  broke  the  silence. 

"  Guess  you  gone  plumb  *  bug/  Bill/'  he  said,  with  an 
amiable  grin.  Then,  as  only  a  flicker  of  a  smile  from  the 
others  answered  him,  and  Bill  ignored  his  charge  altogether, 
he  hurried  on,  "  You're  helpin'  that  misguided  feller  to  a 
dose  of  lead  he'll  never  have  time  to  digest.  If  ever  Zip 
runs  foul  of  James,  he'll  blow  him  to  hell  as  sure  —  as  ther's 
allus  work  for  those  as  don't  need  it.  An',  wot's  more, 
you'll  never  set.  eyes  on  your  black  mare  agin,  'less  it's 
under  James'  saddle.  You're  sure  '  bug.'  You  oughter  be 
seen  to." 


SCIPIO  BORROWS  A  HORSE  65 

It  was  only  Sunny  Oak  who  would  have  dared  to  say  so 
much  to  the  gambler.  But  then,  for  some  unstated  reason, 
Sunny  was  a  privileged  person  on  Suffering  Creek.  Nobody 
paid  much  attention  to  the  manner  in  which  he  allowed  his 
tongue  to  run  on,  and,  besides,  he  was  too  lazy  to  be  afraid 
of  anybody. 

Bill  looked  round. 

"  You're  side-tracked,"  he  observed  contemptuously. 
"  James  won't  shoot  Jessie's  husband.  Maybe  he'll  kick 
him  out,  maybe  he'll  roast  him  bad,  and  tongue-lash  him. 
Anyways,  every  man's  got  to  play  his  own  hand.  An' —  it's 
good  to  see  him  playin'  hard,  win  or  lose.  But  Zip'll  git 
back,  sure.  An'  he'll  bring  my  mare  with  him.  Go  to 
sleep,  Sunny ;  your  thinkin'-pan's  nigh  hatched  out." 

"  I  don't  guess  he'll  ever  get  alongside  James,"  observed 
Minky  thoughtfully.  "  We've  all  looked  for  him  a  piece. 
We  know  he's  got  a  shanty  back  in  the  foothills,  but  I  don't 
seem  to  remember  hearin'  of  anybody  findin'  it.  I  don't 
guess  Zip's  wise  to  where  it  is." 

Bill's  eyes  lit  with  a  curious  fire. 

"  Guess  Zip'll  find  him,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Maybe  it'll 
take  him  time  — " 

"An',"  cried  Sunny,  "how's  them  pore  kiddies  to  live 
meanwhiles  ?  " 

The  loafer  fired  his  little  bomb  with  the  desired  effect. 
The  men  had  no  answer  for  some  moments.  And  gradually 
all  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  Bill's  face,  as  though  acknowl- 
edging his  leadership.  He  answered  the  challenge  in  char- 
acteristic fashion. 

"  Guess  we'll  turn  Sunny  loose  to  wet-nurse  'em." 

An  announcement  which  set  Sunny  plunging  headlong  to 
his  own  defense. 

"  Say,  ain't  ther'  no  sort  o'  peace  for  a  'feller  as  needs 
rest?  You're  all  mighty  smart  settin'  folks  to  work.  But 
this  is  your  game,  Bill,  an'  it's  up  to  you  to  put  it  thro'. 


66         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

I  'low  you'd  make  an  elegant  wet-nurse  —  so  soft  and 
motherish." 

But  Bill  had  had  enough,  and  turned  upon  the  face  at  the 
window  in  his  most  savage  manner. 

"  See  here,"  he  cried,  with  fierce  irony,  "  we've  all  know'd 
you  since  Sufferin'  Creek  was  Sufferin'  Creek,  an'  nobody 
ain't  never  kicked.  But  it's  kind  o'  ne'ssary  for  every  feller 
around  these  parts  to  justify  'emselves.  Get  me?  You 
need  '  justifyinY  Wai,  I  guess  you'll  see  to  them  kiddies 
till  Zip  comes  back.  It's  going  to  be  your  work  seein'  they 
don't  get  fixed  into  any  sort  o'  trouble,  an'  when  Zip  gets 
back  you'll  hand  'em  over  clean  an'  fixed  right.  Get  that? 
I'm  payin'  for  their  board,  an'  I'm  payin'  you  a  wage.  An' 
you're  goin'  to  do  it,  or  light  right  out  o'  here  so  quick  your 
own  dust'll  choke  you." 

"  Here,  here !  "  cried  Toby,  with  a  delighted  laugh. 

Sandy  grinned  into  the  loafer's  angry  face,  while  Minky 
nodded  an  unsmiling  approval. 

"  Gee,  you  beat  hell  for  nerve !  "  cried  Sunny. 

"  Guess  I  ken  do  better.  I  ken  beat  you,"  retorted  Bill 
contemptuously.  "  You'll  do  it,  or  —  you  ken  start  gettin' 
out  now,"  he  added. 

Sunny  realized  his  position  by  the  expression  of  the  other 
men's  faces,  and,  quickly  resuming  his  good-humored  plaint, 
he  acquiesced  with  a  grumble. 

"  Gee !  but  it's  a  tough  world,"  he  complained,  dropping 
back  on  to  his  bench  hurriedly,  lest  fresh  demands  should  be 
made  upon  him,  and  just  in  time  to  witness  Scipio  leading  a 
beautiful  black  mare  up  to  the  ty ing-post. 

The  men  in  the  store  turned  out  at  the  sound  of  horse's 
hoofs,  and  stood  gathered  on  the  veranda.  Bill's  keen  eyes 
were  fixed  regretfully  on  the  shining  sides  of  his  favorite 
animal.  She  was  a  picture  of  lean  muscle  and  bone,  with  a 
beautiful  small  head,  and  ears  that  looked  little  larger  than 
well-polished  mussel-shells.  She  stood  pawing  the  ground 


SCIPIO  BORROWS  A  HORSE  67 

impatiently  while  Scipio  tied  her  to  the  post,  and  she  nuzzled 
his  ribs  playfully  with  her  twitching  lips  in  the  most  friendly 
spirit.  But  Bill's  eyes  were  suddenly  arrested  by  the  man- 
ner in  which  she  was  saddled  and  bridled.  Poor  Scipio  had 
blundered  in  a  hopeless  fashion. 

Other  eyes,  too,  had  seen  the  blunder,  and  Sandy  Joyce 
suddenly  pointed. 

"  Mackinaw !    Jest  get  that,"  he  cried. 

"  By  Gee !  "  laughed  Sunny. 

But  Wild  Bill  cut  them  all  short  in  a  surprising  manner. 

"  Say,  guess  you  fellers  ain't  never  made  no  sort  o'  mis- 
takes — •  any  o'  you.  You're  laffin'  a  heap.  Quit  it,  or  — " 
His  eyes  flashed  dangerously.  Then,  as  the  men  became 
silent,  he  darted  across  to  where  Scipio  was  still  fumbling 
with  the  neck  rope. 

The  little  man's  attempt  at  saddling,  under  any  other 
circumstances,  would  have  brought  forth  Bill's  most  scathing 
contempt.  The  saddle  was  set  awry  upon  an  ill-folded 
blanket.  It  was  so  far  back  from  the  mare's  withers  that 
the  twisted  double  cinchas  were  somewhere  under  her  belly, 
instead  of  her  girth.  Then  the  bit  was  reversed  in  her 
month,  and  the  curb-strap  was  hanging  loose. 

Bill  came  to  his  rescue  in  his  own  peculiar  way. 

"  Say,  Zip,"  he  cried  in  a  voice  that  nothing  could  soften, 
"  I  don't  guess  you  altered  them  stirrups  to  fit  you.  I'll  jest 
fix  'em."  And  the  little  man  stood  humbly  by  while  he  set 
to  work.  He  quickly  unfastened  the  cinchas,  and  set  the 
blanket  straight.  Then  he  shifted  the  saddle,  and  refastened 
the  cinchas.  Then  he  altered  the  stirrups,  and  passed  on 
to  the  mare's  bridle  —  Scipio  watching  him  all  the  while 
without  a  word.  But  when  the  gambler  had  finished  he 
glanced  up  into  his  lean  face  with  an  almost  dog-like  grati- 
tude. 

"  Thanks,  Bill,"  he  said.     "  I  never  done  it  before." 

"  So  I  guessed."     And  the  gambler's  words,  though  wholly 


68         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

harsh,  had  no  other  meaning  in  them.  Then  he  went  on, 
as  Scipio  scrambled  into  the  saddle,  "  You  don't  need  to 
worry  any  'bout  things  here.  Your  kiddies  '11  be  seen  to 
proper  till  you  get  back,  if  you're  on  the  trail  a  month." 

Scipio  was  startled.     He  had  forgotten  his  twins. 

"Say  — you— " 

But  Bill  wanted  no  thanks  or  explanations. 

"  We're  seein'  to  them  things  —  us,  an'  that  all-fired  lazy 
slob,  Sunny  Oak.  Ther'  won't  be  no  harm  — "  He  flicked 
the  restive  mare,  which  bounded  off  with  the  spring  of  a 
gazelle.  "  Ease  your  hand  to  her,"  he  called  out,  so  as 
to  drown  Scipio's  further  protestations  of  gratitude,  "  ease 
your  hand,  you  blamed  little  fule.  That's  it.  Now  let  her 

go-" 

And  the  mare  raced  off  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 


CHAPTER  V 

HUSBAND   AND   LOVER 

WHERE  all  the  trail-wise  men  of  Suffering  Creek  and 
the  district  had  failed,  Scipio,  the  incompetent,  succeeded. 
Such  was  the  ironical  pleasure  of  the  jade  Fortune.  Scipio 
had  not  the  vaguest  idea  of  whither  his  quest  would  lead 
him.  He  had  no  ideas  on  the  subject  at  all.  Only  had  he 
his  fixed  purpose  hard  in  his  mind,  and,  like  a  loadstone,  it 
drew  him  unerringly  to  his  goal. 

There  was  something  absolutely  ludicrous  in  the  manner 
of  his  search.  But  fortunately  there  are  few  ready  to  laugh 
at  disaster.  Thus  it  was  that  wherever  he  went,  wherever 
he  paused  amongst  his  fellows  in  search  of  information  he 
was  received  perfectly  seriously,  even  when  he  told  the  ob- 
ject of  his  search,  and  the  story  of  its  reason. 

An  ordinary  man  would  probably  have  hugged  such  a 
story  to  himself.  He  would  have  resorted  to  covert  prob- 
ing and  excuse  in  extracting  information.  But  then  it  is 
doubtful  if,  under  such  circumstances,  his  purpose  would 
have  been  so  strong,  so  absolutely  invincible  as  Scipio's. 
As  it  was,  with  single-minded  simplicity,  Scipio  saw  no  rea- 
son for  subterfuge,  he  saw  no  reason  for  disguising  the  trag- 
edy which  had  befallen  him.  And  so  he  shed  his  story 
broadcast  amongst  the  settlers  of  the  district  until,  by  means 
of  that  wonderful  prairie  telegraphy,  which  needs  no  instru- 
ments to  operate,  it  flew  before  him  in  every  direction, 
either  belittled  or  exaggerated  as  individual  temperament 
prompted. 

At  one  ranch  the  news  was  brought  in  from  the  trail  by 


70         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

a  hard-faced  citizen  who  had  little  imagination,  but  much 
knowledge  of  the  country. 

"  Say,  fellers,"  he  cried,  as  he  swung  out  of  the  saddle 
at  the  bunkhouse  door,  "  ther's  a  tow-headed  sucker  on  the 
trail  lookin'  fer  the  James  outfit.  Guess  he  wants  to  shoot 
'em  up.  He's  a  sawed-off  mut,  an'  don't  look  a  heap  like 
scar  in'  a  jack-rabbit.  I  told  him  he  best  git  back  to  hum, 
an'  git  busy  fixin'  his  funeral  right,  so  he  wouldn't  have  no 
trouble  later." 

"  Wher's  he  from  ?  "  someone  asked. 

"  Sufferin'  Creek,"  replied  the  cowpuncher,  "  an'  seems 
to  me  he's  got  more  grit  than  savvee." 

And  this  opinion  was  more  or  less  the  general  one.  The 
little  man  rode  like  one  possessed,  and  it  was  as  well  that  of 
all  his  six  treasured  horses  Wild  Bill  had  lent  him  his 
black  beauty,  Gipsy.  She  was  quite  untiring,  and,  with 
her  light  weight  burden,  she  traveled  in  a  spirit  of  sheer 
delight. 

At  every  homestead  or  ranch  Scipio  only  paused  to  make 
inquiries  and  then  hurried  on.  The  information  he  received 
was  of  the  vaguest.  James  or  some  of  his  gang  were  often 
seen  in  the  remoter  parts  of  the  lower  foothills,  but  this  was 
all.  At  one  farm  he  had  a  little  better  luck,  however. 
Here  he  was  told  that  the  farmer  had  received  an  intimation 
that  if  he  wished  to  escape  being  burnt  out  he  must  be 
prepared  to  hand  over  four  hundred  dollars  when  called 
upon  by  the  writer  to  do  so;  and  the  message  was  signed 
"  James." 

"  So  ye  see,"  said  the  farmer  —  a  man  named  Nicholls  — 
despondently,  "  he's  som'eres  skulkin'  around  hyar." 

"  Seems  like  it,"  acquiesced  Scipio. 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  a  suspicion  flashed  through  the  other's 
mind,  and  the  man-hunter  spent  an  uncomfortable  few 
seconds. 

"Say,  you're  lookin'  fer  him?"  the  farmer  questioned 


HUSBAND  AND  LOVER  71 

harshly.  Then  he  leant  forward,  his  eyes  lighting  with 
sudden  anger.  "  If  I  tho't  you  was  — " 

But  Scipio's  mild  blue  eyes,  and  his  simple  reply  had  a 
pacific  effect  at  once. 

"  I'm  looking  for  him  because  he's  stole  my  wife.  And 
I'm  goin'  on  chasin'  till  I  find  him." 

There  was  such  mild  sincerity  in  his  visitor's  manner 
that  it  was  impossible  for  the  farmer  to  retain  his  sus- 
picion. 

"  What  you  goin'  to  do  about  that  four  hundred  ? " 
inquired  Scipio  later. 

"  He'll  get  no  dollars  out  o'  me.  I  ain't  got  'em,"  replied 
Nicholls  hopelessly.  Then  his  temper  rose.  "  But  I'm  just 
goin'  to  slep  with  a  gun  to  my  hand,  an'  he'll  get  it  good 
an'  plenty,  if  he  shoots  the  life  out  of  me,  an'  burns  every 
stick  I  got,  after." 

Scipio  nodded  sympathetically. 

"  I'd  feel  that  ways,"  he  said.  "  Well,  I  guess  I'll  be 
gettin'  on.  My  mare'll  be  fed  an'  rested  by  this.  Thanks 
for  the  feed.  Guess  I'll  hunt  around  this  district  a  piece. 
Maybe  I'll  find—" 

But  suddenly  the  farmer  awoke  from  the  contemplation 
of  his  own  troubles  and  eyed  the  diminutive  figure  of  his 
guest  wonderingly,  as  he  stood  up  to  go. 

"  Say,"  he  observed  critically,  "  guess  you  must  be  bustin' 
with  grit  chasin'  this  feller." 

Scipio  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  a  wan  smile.  "  But  he's  got  —  my 
wife." 

"  Ah." 

And  there  was  a  world  of  understanding  in  the  man's 
monosyllable. 

Five  minutes  later  the  man-hunter  was  on  the  trail  again. 
It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  of  his  quest.  He  was 
saddle-sore  and  weary,  but  his  purpose  knew  no  weakening. 


72         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Gipsy  was  going  fresh  and  strong,  and  though  she  had  al- 
ready traveled  probably  a  hundred  miles  in  her  rider's  aim- 
less wanderings,  she  moved  as  though  she  was  out  for  a 
morning's  exercise  on  a  liberal  diet  of  oats. 

True  to  his  intention  Scipio  scoured  the  district  with  an 
excess  of  enthusiasm  which  carried  him  far,  and  sundown 
found  him  amongst  the  beehive  hummocks  which  form  the 
approach  to  the  greater  hills.  Up  and  down  these  wonder- 
ful grassy  dunes  he  roamed  searching  a  resting-place  for 
himself  and  his  mare.  There  was  nothing  of  the  sort  in 
sight,  nothing  but  the  endless  series  of  grassy  knolls,  and 
the  dividing  hollows  which  might  conceal  anything,  from 
a  ranch  house  to  an  outlying  cattle  station.  And  finally 
he  abandoned  all  hope  of  shelter. 

He  had  certainly  lost  himself.  But,  even  so,  he  was  not 
greatly  concerned.  Why  should  he  be?  What  did  it  mat- 
ter? He  knew  that  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst  his 
mare  could  eat  her  fill  of  grass,  and,  for  himself,  sleep  in 
the  open  had  no  terrors.  Of  food  for  himself  he  had  not 
even  begun  to  think.  So  he  rode  on  until  the  last  blaze 
of  the  setting  sun  dropped  behind  the  sky-line. 

He  was  descending  into  a  hollow,  something  deeper  than 
usual.  Hope  ran  high  that  it  was  one  of  those  hidden 
breaks,  which,  at  intervals,  cross  the  sea  of  grassy  dunes, 
and  mark  a  mountain  waterway.  Nor  was  he  disappointed. 
A  few  moments  later,  to  his  delight,  he  found  himself  gazing 
into  the  depths  of  one  of  the  many  rivulets  trickling  its 
shallow  way  between  low  cut  banks.  Promptly  he  made 
up  his  mind  that  it  was  the  place  for  him  to  camp. 

At  the  water's  edge  he  scrambled  out  of  the  saddle  and 
began  to  seek  a  place  where  his  mare  could  drink.  It  was 
a  little  difficult,  for  the  banks  were  sharp,  and  the  bushes 
plentiful,  and  he  had  wandered  at  least  a  hundred  yards  in 
his  search  for  an  opening  when  a  human  voice  abruptly 
hailed  him  from  the  far  side  of  the  stream.  He  looked 


HUSBAND  AND  LOVER  73 

across  without  answering,  and,  to  his  intense  surprise,  beheld 
a  horseman  on  the  opposite  bank.  The  man,  judging  by 
his  appearance,  was  a  cowpuncher,  and,  to  Scipio's  simple 
mind,  was,  like  himself,  benighted. 

"  Hello,"  he  replied  at  last,  after  a  thoughtful  stare. 

The  man  was  eyeing  the  yellow-headed  figure  with  no 
very  friendly  eyes,  but  this  fact  was  lost  upon  Scipio,  who 
saw  in  him  only  a  fellow  man  in  misfortune.  He  saw  the 
lariat  on  the  horn  of  the  saddle,  the  man's  chapps,  his  hard- 
muscled  broncho  pony  gazing  longingly  at  the  water.  The 
guns  at  the  man's  waist,  the  scowling  brow  and  shifty  eyes 
passed  quite  unobserved. 

"  Wher'  you  from  ?  "  demanded  the  man  sharply. 

"  Suffering  Creek,"  replied  Scipio  readily. 

"  Guess  you've  come  quite  a  piece,"  said  the  other,  after 
a  considering  pause. 

"  I  sure  have." 

"What  you  doin' here?" 

The  man's  inquiry  rapped  out  smartly.  But  Scipio  had 
no  suspicion  of  anybody,  and  answered  quite  without 
hesitation. 

"  I'm  huntin'  a  man  called  James.     You  ain't  seen  him?  " 

But  the  man  countered  his  question  with  another. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Scipio  —  and  yours  ?  " 

In  the  dying  light  the  man's  saturnine  features  seemed  to 
relax  for  a  moment  into  something  like  a  smile.  But  he 
spoke  at  once. 

"  Come  right  over,"  he  invited.  "  Guess  my  name's  Abe 
—  Abe  Conroy.  I'm  out  chasin'  cattle."  And  the  fact  that 
he  finished  up  with  a  deliberate  laugh  had  no  meaning  at  all 
for  his  companion. 

Scipio  gladly  accepted  the  invitation,  and,  in  response  to 
the  man's  instructions,  moved  farther  along  the  stream  until 
he  came  to  a  shelving  in  the  bank  where  his  mare  could  climb 


74         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

down.  He  crossed  over,  letting  his  horse  drink  by  the  way, 
and  a  few  moments  later  was  at  his  new  acquaintance's  side. 

The  stranger's  mood  seemed  to  have  entirely  changed 
for  the  better  by  the  time  Scipio  came  up.  His  smile  was 
almost  amiable,  and  his  manner  of  speech  was  comparatively 
jocular. 

"  So  you're  chasm'  that  crook,  James/'  he  said  easily. 
"Queer,  ain't  it?" 

"What?" 

"  Why,  he's  run  off  a  bunch  of  our  stock.  Leastways, 
that's  how  I'm  guessin'.  I'm  makin'  up  to  his  place  right 
now  to  spy  out  things.  I  was  jest  waitin'  fer  the  sun  to  go. 
Y'see  we're  organizin'  a  vigilance  party  to  run  —  Say,  I'd 
a  notion  fer  a  moment  you  was  one  of  his  gang." 

But  Scipio  disclaimed  the  honor  promptly. 

"  No.     I  just  need  to  find  him.     I'm  needin'  it  bad." 

"Wot  fer?" 

For  once  the  man-hunter  hesitated.  A  quite  unaccount- 
able feeling  gave  him  a  moment's  pause.  But  he  finally 
answered  frankly,  as  he  always  answered,  with  a  simple 
directness  that  was  just  part  of  him. 

"  He's  stole  my  wife,"  he  said,  his  eyes  directly  gazing 
into  the  other's  face. 

"  Gee,  he's  a  low-down  skunk,"  declared  the  other,  with  a 
curse.  But  the  ironical  light  in  his  eyes  quite  escaped  his 
companion's  understanding. 

Scipio  was  full  of  his  good  fortune  in  falling  in  with  a 
man  who  knew  of  James'  whereabouts.  A  dozen  questions 
sprang  into  his  mind,  but  he  contented  himself  with  stating 
his  intention. 

"  I'll  ride  on  with  you,"  he  said. 

"  What,  right  up  to  James'  lay-out?  " 

"  Sure.     That's  wher'  I'm  makin'." 

For  a  moment  the  man  calling  himself  Conroy  sat  gazing 
out  at  the  afterglow  of  the  setting  sun.  His  whole  appear- 


HUSBAND  AND  LOVER  75 

ance  was  ill-favored  enough  to  have  aroused  distrust  in 
anybody  but  a  man  like  Scipio.  Now  he  seemed  to  be 
pondering  a  somewhat  vexed  question,  and  his  brows  were 
drawn  together  in  a  way  that  suggested  anything  but  a  clear 
purpose.  But  finally  he  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind  to  a 
definite  course.  He  spoke  without  turning  to  his  companion, 
and  perhaps  it  was  for  the  purpose  of  hiding  a  lurking 
derisive  smile. 

"  If  you're  set  on  makin'  James'  shanty,  you  best  come 
right  along.  Only  " —  he  hesitated  for  the  barest  fraction 
of  a  second  — "  y'see,  I'm  out  after  this  cattle  racket,  an'  I 
guess  I  owe  it  to  my  folks  to  git  their  bizness  thro'  without 
no  chance  of  upset.  See  ?  " 

Scipio  nodded.  He  saw  the  man's  drift,  and  thought  it 
quite  splendid  of  him. 

"  Now,  I  got  to  spy  out  things,"  the  man  went  on,  "  an' 
if  you  get  right  up  ther'  first  it'll  likely  upset  things  fer  me 
—  you  goin'  ther'  to  hold  him  up  as  it  were."  His  smile 
was  more  pronounced.  "  Now  I  guess  I'll  show  you  where 
his  lay-out  is  if  you'll  sure  give  me  your  promise  to  let  me 
hunt  around  fer  ha'f-an-hour  around  his  corrals — 'fore  you 
butt  in.  Then  I'll  get  right  back  to  you  an'  you  can  go 
up,  an' —  shoot  him  to  hell,  if  you  notion  that  fancy." 

Scipio  almost  beamed  his  thanks.  The  man's  kindness 
seemed  a  noble  thing  to  him. 

"  You're  a  real  bully  fellow,"  he  said.  "  Guess  we'll  start 
right  now  ?  " 

The  man  turned  and  his  shrewd  eyes  fixed  themselves 
piercingly  on  the  little  man's  face. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  shortly,  "  we'll  get  on." 

He  led  the  way,  his  horse  slightly  in  advance  of  the  mare, 
and  for  some  time  he  made  no  attempt  to  break  the  silence 
that  had  fallen.  The  twilight  was  rapidly  passing  into  the 
deeper  shadows  of  night,  but  he  rode  amongst  the  hills  as 
though  he  were  traveling  a  broad  open  trail.  There  was  no 


76        THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

hesitation,  no  questioning  glance  as  to  his  direction.  He 
might  have  been  traveling  a  trail  that  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  all  his  life.  At  last,  however,  he  glanced  round  at 
his  companion. 

"  Say,  what  you  goin'  to  do  when  —  you  get  there  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Fetch  my  wife  back,"  replied  Scipio  earnestly. 

"What'll  James  be  doin'?" 

"  He  can't  keep  her  —  she's  mine." 

"  That's  so.     But  —  if  he  notions  to  keep  her  ?  " 

Scipio  was  silent  for  some  moments.  His  pale  eyes  were 
staring  straight  ahead  of  him  out  into  the  growing  darkness. 

"  Maybe,  I'll  have  to  shoot  him,"  he  said  at  last,  as  though 
there  could  be  no  question  about  the  matter. 

The  man  nodded. 

"  Got  useful  guns  ?  "  he  inquired  casually. 

"  Got  one." 

"  Ah,  what  is  it  ?     Magazine  ?  " 

Scipio  pulled  his  antique  possession  out  of  his  pocket  and 
handed  it  over  for  the  man's  inspection. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  Guess  the  sights  ain't  good 
over  a  distance,  but  at  close  range  it'll  make  a  nasty  hole." 

Conroy  took  the  weapon  in  his  hand.  His  keen  eyes 
noted  the  age  of  the  pattern.  He  also  saw  the  battered 
condition  of  the  sights,  and  the  clumsy,  rusted,  protruding 
hammer.  It  was  six-chambered,  and  he  knew  that  it  must 
be  all  of  forty  years  old.  One  of  the  earliest  pattern 
revolvers.  The  sight  of  it  filled  him  with  cruel  amusement, 
but  he  kept  a  serious  face. 

"  I  'lows  that  should  bring  James  to  his  senses,"  he 
observed,  as  he  handed  it  back  to  its  owner. 

Scipio  read  his  answer  as  approval,  and  warmed  towards 
him. 

"  I'd  say  so,"  he  said,  returning  his  antiquity  to  his  pocket. 
"You  see,  a  gun's  li'ble  to  rattle  a  feller  like  James.  A 


HUSBAND  AND  LOVER  77 

man  who  can  get  around  when  a  feller's  back's  turned,  an' 
make  love  to  his  wife,  ain't  much  of  a  man,  is  he  ?  I  mean 
he  hasn't  much  grit.  He's  a  coward  sure.  If  he'd  got  grit 
he  wouldn't  do  it.  Well,  that's  how  I  figger  'bout  this 
James.  He's  mean,  an'  a  cowardly  dog.  I  don't  guess  I'll 
have  to  use  that  gun,  but  I  jest  brought  it  along  to  scare  him 
to  his  senses,  if  he  needs  it.  Maybe  though  he  won't  need 
it  when  he  sees  me  come  along  —  y'see,  I'm  Jessie's  husband 
—  guess  that'll  fix  him  sure." 

"  Guess  you  got  James  sized  up  good,"  observed  the  man, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  ahead.  "  No,  I  don't  see  you'll  need 
that  gun." 

They  rode  on,  Scipio's  spirits  rising  with  every  yard  they 
traveled.  He  knew  he  was  nearing  his  wife  with  every 
passing  moment.  He  had  no  doubts,  no  fears.  So  long  as 
he  could  reach  her  side  he  felt  that  all  would  be  well.  In 
spite  of  her  letter  it  never  entered  his  head  that  she  cared 
for  the  man  she  had  gone  off  with.  He  blamed  James,  and 
it  was  no  mere  figure  of  speech  when  he  said  that  he  believed 
he  had  "  stolen "  her.  He  believed  such  to  be  the  case. 
He  believed  she  had  gone  unwillingly.  In  his  mind  it  was 
a  case  of  abduction.  Again  and  again  he  thanked  Provi- 
dence that  he  had  fallen  in  with  this  man,  Conroy.  He  was 
a  good  fellow,  he  told  himself,  a  good  friend.  And  his  ideas 
were  so  coincident  with  his  own  about  James. 

They  were  approaching  the  higher  hills.  Towering, 
broken  crags  loomed  ahead  darkly  in  the  gathering  gloom. 
The  vast  riven  facets  cut  the  sky-line,  and  black  patches 
of  pine  forests,  and  spruce,  gave  a  ghostly,  threatening  out- 
look. They  must  have  been  riding  over  two  hours  when 
Scipio  realized  they  were  passing  over  a  narrow  cattle  track 
on  the  summit  of  a  wooded  hill.  Then  presently  their 
horses  began  a  steep  shelving  descent  which  required  great 
caution  to  negotiate.  And  as  they  proceeded  the  darkness 
closed  in  upon  them,  until  they  appeared  to  be  making  an 


78         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

almost  precipitate  descent  into  a  vast  black  pit.  There  was 
no  light  here  at  all  except  for  the  stars  above,  for  the  last 
glow  of  twilight  was  completely  shut  off  by  the  great  wall 
they  were  now  leaving  behind  them. 

No  word  was  spoken.  Each  man  was  busy  with  his  horse, 
and  the  animals  themselves  were  stumbling  and  floundering 
as  they  picked  their  uncertain  way.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
of  this  went  by,  then,  suddenly,  ahead,  still  farther  down 
the  slope,  two  or  three  dim  lights  shone  up  at  them  like  will- 
o'-the-wisps.  They  seemed  to  dance  about  before  Scipio's 
eyes  as  they  rode.  Nor,  as  he  pointed  them  out  to  his  com- 
panion, did  he  realize  that  this  peculiarity  was  due  to  the 
motion  of  his  mare  under  him. 

"  Yep,"  replied  Conroy  dryly.     "  Them's  James'  lights." 

"  He's  got  a  large  place,"  said  Scipio,  with  some  awe  in 
his  tone. 

"  He  sure  has,"  agreed  Conroy,  smiling  in  the  darkness. 
"  He's  got  the  biggest  an'  best-stocked  ranch  in  Montana." 

"  You  say  he's  a  —  cattle  thief  ?  "  Scipio  was  struggling 
to  get  things  into  proper  focus. 

"  He  sure  is."  And  Conroy's  tone  of  satisfaction  had  the 
effect  of  silencing  further  comment  by  his  companion. 

A  few  moments  later  the  descent  was  completed,  and  the 
soft  grass  under  her  feet  set  Gipsy  dancing  to  get  on,  but 
Conroy  pulled  up. 

"  Here,"  he  said  authoritatively,  "  you  set  right  here  while 
I  get  on  an*  get  thro'  with  my  business.  I'll  come  along 
back  for  you." 

Without  demur  Scipio  waited,  and  his  companion  van- 
ished in  the  darkness.  The  little  man  had  entered  into  an 
agreement,  and  had  no  desire,  in  spite  of  his  eagerness  to  be 
doing,  of  departing  from  the  letter  of  it.  So  he  possessed 
himself  in  what  patience  he  could  until  Conroy's  return. 

The  soft  pad  of  the  retiring  horse's  hoofs  on  the  thick 
grass  died  away.  And  presently  one  of  the  twinkling  lights 


HUSBAND  AND  LOVER  79 

ahead  was  abruptly  shut  out.  The  horseman  had  intervened 
on  Scipio's  line  of  vision.  Then  the  yellow  gleam  as  sud- 
denly reappeared,  and  the  last  sign  of  Conroy  passed.  The 
waiting  man  watched  with  every  faculty  alert.  His  ears  and 
eyes  straining  for  the  least  unusual  sound  or  sight.  But 
there  was  none  forthcoming. 

Then  he  began  to  think.  He  began  to  consider  the 
situation.  He  began  to  picture  to  himself  something  of  the 
scene  that  he  hoped  would  shortly  take  place  between  him- 
self and  the  man  James.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
thought  of  the  matter  deliberately,  or  attempted  to  estimate 
its  possibilities.  Hitherto  he  had  been  too  torn  by  his  emo- 
tions to  consider  anything  in  detail.  And,  even  now,  so 
imbued  was  he  with  the  right  of  his  cause  that  he  only  saw 
his  own  point  of  view,  which  somehow  made  James  a  mere 
plaything  in  his  hands. 

He  found  himself  dictating  his  will  upon  the  thief  in  firm 
tones.  He  demanded  his  wife  without  heat,  but  with  the 
knowledge  of  the  power  of  his  gun  lying  behind  his  words. 
He  felt  the  restraint  he  would  use.  He  would  not  bully. 
Who  was  he  to  bully  after  having  had  Jessie  restored  to 
him  ?  James  should  be  dealt  with  as.  gently  as  his  feelings 
would  permit  him.  Yes,  thank  God,  he  had  no  actual  desire 
to  hurt  this  man  who  had  so  wronged  him.  The  man  was 
foolish,  and  he  could  afford  to  be  generous,  having  had 
Jessie  restored  to  him.  No,  he  would  try  hard  to  forgive 
him.  It  would  be  a  tremendous  struggle,  he  knew,  yet  he 
felt,  with  Jessie  restored  to  him,  he  ought  to  make  the  effort. 
Somehow,  even  now,  he  almost  felt  sorry  for  so  misguided 
a  — 

But  his  reflections  were  suddenly  cut  short  by  the  sound 
of  horses'  hoofs  returning,  and,  a  moment  later,  Conroy 
loomed  up  in  the  darkness.  He  came  quite  close  up  before 
he  spoke,  and  then  it  was  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  I've  located  things,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  deep  satis- 


8o         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

faction.  "  Guess  we'll  make  Mr.  '  Lord '  James  hunt  his 
hole  'fore  we're  thro'  with  him.  I  rigger  a  rawhide  fixed 
neat  about  his  neck'll  'bout  meet  his  case.  An'  say,  I've 
news  fer  you.  Ther's  some  o'  his  boys  around.  He's  jest 
right  in  ther'  wher'  you  ken  see  that  biggish  light,"  he  went 
on,  pointing  at  the  illuminated  square  of  a  window.  "  I  see 
him  through  an  open  door  round  back.  He's  lyin'  on  a 
heap  o'  blankets  readin'  a  book.  Ef  you  git  along  now 
you'll  get  him  wher'  you  need  him,  an' —  an'  I  wouldn't  take 
no  chances.  Get  a  drop  on  him  from  outside  the  door,  an' 
—  wal,  guess  a  feller  like  you'll  know  what  to  do  after  that. 
I'm  gettin'  back  to  home." 

Scipio  glowed.  He  felt  he  could  have  hugged  this  good- 
natured  stranger.  But  he  did  not  altogether  agree  with  the 
man's  suggestion  of  getting  the  drop  on  James.  He  felt  it 
would  hardly  be  playing  the  game.  However,  he  intended 
to  be  guided  by  circumstances. 

"  Thanks,  friend,"  he  said,  in  his  simple  fashion.  "  You 
must  let  me  call  you  that,"  he  went  on  eagerly.  "  You 
see,  you've  done  something  for  me  to-night  I  can't  never 
forget.  Maybe  you've  got  a  wife  of  your  own,  and  if  so 
you'll  sure  understand." 

"  Can't  rightly  say  I've  got  a  —  wife,"  the  man  replied, 
"  but  I  ken  understan'  all  right.  James  is  low  —  doggone 
low,"  he  added.  And  his  face  was  turned  well  away  so 
that  he  could  grin  comfortably  without  fear  of  the  other 
seeing  it. 

"  Well,  so  long,"  said  Scipio  hastily.  "  Seeing  I  shan't 
see  you  here  when  I  get  back,  I'd  just  like  to  thank  you 
again." 

"  So  long,"  replied  the  other.  "  An'  you  needn't  to  thank 
me  too  much." 

Scipio  urged  his  mare  forward,  and  the  man  sat  looking 
after  him.  And  somehow  his  face  had  lost  something  of  its 
satisfied  expression.  However,  he  sat  there  only  a  moment. 


HUSBAND  AND  LOVER  81 

Presently  he  lifted  his  reins  and  set  his  horse  at  a  canter  in 
the  direction  of  one  of  the  more  distant  lights. 

"  He's  a  pore  fule,"  he  muttered,  "  but  it's  a  lousy  trick 
anyways."  Thus  he  dismissed  the  matter  from  his  mind 
with  a  callous  shrug. 

In  the  meantime  Scipio  neared  the  house  from  which 
shone  the  larger  light.  As  he  drew  towards  it  he  saw  its 
outline  against  the  starlight.  It  was  a  large,  two-storied 
frame  house  of  weather-boarding,  with  a  veranda  fronting 
it.  There  were  several  windows  on  the  hither  side  of  it,  but 
light  shone  only  in  one  of  them.  It  was  by  this  light  the 
horseman  saw  a  tie-post  some  yards  from  the  house.  And 
without  hesitation  he  rode  up  to  it,  and,  dismounting,  secured 
his  mare.  Then,  following  Conroy's  directions,  he  pro- 
ceeded on  foot  to  the  back  of  the  house  where  he  was  to 
find  an  open  door.  He  turned  the  angle  of  the  building. 
Yes,  the  door  was  there  all  right,  but  whereas  Conroy  had 
said  that  James  was  lying  on  his  blankets  reading,  he  now 
discovered  that  the  doorway  was  filled  by  that  handsome 
thief's  presence. 

Before  he  realized  what  had  happened,  Scipio  found  him- 
self in  the  full  glare  of  the  light  from  the  doorway,  and 
James  was  smiling  down  upon  his  yellow  head  with  a 
curious  blending  of  insolence  and  curiosity. 

"  I  was  wondering  when  you'd  get  around,"  he  said,  with- 
out shifting  his  position.  Then,  as  Scipio  made  no  answer, 
he  bestirred  himself.  "  Come  right  in,"  he  added,  and, 
lounging  out  of  the  doorway,  he  dropped  back  into  the  room. 
"  You'll  find  things  a  bit  untidy,"  he  went  on  calmly,  "  you 
see  I'm  making  changes  in  my  domestic  arrangements. 
This  is  temporary,  I  guess.  However,  if  you  don't  just 
mind  that,  why  —  come  right  in." 

The  man's  whole  manner  was  one  of  good-humored 
indifference.  There  was  an  unruffled  assurance  about  him 
that  was  quite  perfect,  if  studied.  Scipio's  presence  there 


82         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

seemed  the  last  thing  of  concern  to  him.  And  the  effect  of 
his  manner  on  his  visitor  entirely  upset  all  the  latter's  pre- 
conceived intentions.  Astonishment  was  his  first  feeling. 
Then  a  sudden  diffidence  seized  him,  a  diffidence  that  was 
nearly  akin  to  fear  of  his  rival.  But  this  passed  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  was  instantly  replaced  by  a  hot  rush  of  blood 
through  his  small  body.  All  his  pictured  interview  died  out 
of  his  recollections,  and,  in  place  of  that  calmness  with 
which  he  had  intended  to  meet  the  man,  he  found  his  pulses 
hammering  and  hot  anger  mounting  to  his  head.  The 
commonest  of  human  passions  stirred  in  him,  and  he  felt 
it  would  be  good  to  hurt  this  man  who  had  so  wronged 
him. 

"Where's  my  wife?"  he  demanded,  with  a  sudden 
fierceness. 

"  Oh  —  it's  that.     Say,  come  right  in  ?  " 

James  was  still  smiling  pleasantly.  This  time  Scipio 
accepted  the  invitation  without  thought  of  trap  or  anything 
else.  He  almost  precipitated  himself  into  the  room. 

Nor  in  his  fury  did  he  observe  his  surroundings.  He  had 
no  eyes  for  the  furnishings,  the  cheap  comfort  with  which 
he  was  surrounded.  And  though,  as  James  had  said,  the 
place  was  untidy,  he  saw  nothing  and  none  of  it.  His  eyes 
were  on  the  man ;  angry,  bloodshot  eyes,  such  eyes  as  those 
of  a  furiously  goaded  dog,  driven  into  a  corner  by  the  cruel 
lash  of  a  bully's  whip. 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  Wher's  my  wife  ? "  Scipio  demanded 
threateningly.  "  You've  stole  her,  and  taken  her  from  me. 
I've  come  to  take  her  back." 

The  force  of  his  demands  was  tinged  with  the  simplicity 
of  a  naturally  gentle  disposition.  And  maybe,  in  conse- 
quence, something  of  their  sting  was  lost.  The  forceful 
bluster  of  an  outraged  man,  determined  upon  enforcing  his 
demands,  would  probably  have  stirred  James  to  active  pro- 
test, but,  as  it  was,  he  only  continued  to  smile  his  insolence 


HUSBAND  AND  LOVER  83 

upon  one  whom  he  regarded  as  little  better  than  a  harmless 
worm. 

"  One  moment,"  he  said,  with  an  exasperating  patience, 
"  you  say  I  stole  her.  To  have  stolen  her  suggests  that  she 
was  not  willing  to  come  along.  She  came  with  me.  Well, 
I  guess  she  came  because  she  fancied  it.  You  say  you're 
going  to  take  her  back.  Well,"  with  a  shrug,  "  I  kind  of 
think  she'll  have  something  to  say  about  going  back." 

For  a  moment  Scipio  stood  aghast.  He  glanced  about 
him  helplessly.  Then,  in  a  flash,  his  pale-blue  eyes  came 
back  to  the  other's  face. 

"She's  mine,  I  tell  you!  Mine!  Mine!  Mine!"  he 
cried,  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  and  despair.  "  She's  mine  by  the 
laws  of  God  an'  man.  She's  mine  by  the  love  that  has 
brought  our  kiddies  into  the  world.  Do  you  hear?  She's 
mine  by  every  tie  that  can  hold  man  and  wife  together.  An' 
you've  stole  her.  She's  all  I've  got.  She's  all  I  want.  She's 
just  part  of  me,  and  I  can't  live  without  her.  Ther's  the 
kiddies  to  home  waitin'  for  her,  and  she's  theirs,  same  as 
they  are  hers  —  and  mine.  I  tell  you,  you  ain't  going  to 
keep  her.  She's  got  to  come  back."  He  drew  a  deep  breath 
to  choke  down  his  fury.  "  Say,"  he  went  on,  with  a  sudden 
moderating  of  his  tone  and  his  manner,  taking  on  a  pitiful 
pleading,  "do  you  think  you  love  her?  You?  Do  you 
think  you  know  what  love  is?  You  don't.  You  can't. 
You  can't  love  her  same  as  I  do.  I  love  her  honest.  I  love 
her  so  I  want  to  work  for  her  till  I  drop.  I  love  her  so 
there's  nothin'  on  earth  I  wouldn't  do  for  her.  My  life  is 
hers.  All  that's  me  is  hers.  I  ain't  got  a  thought  without 
her.  Man,  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  love  my  Jessie. 
You  can't,  'cos  your  love's  not  honest  You've  taken  her 
same  as  you'd  take  any  woman  for  your  pleasure.  If  I  was 
dead,  would  you  marry  her?  No,  never,  never,  never. 
She's  a  pastime  to  you,  and  when  you've  done  with  her  you'd 
turn  her  right  out  on  this  prairie  to  herd  with  the  cattle, 


84         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

if  ther'  wasn't  anywher'  else  for  her  to  go."  Then  his  voice 
suddenly  rose  and  his  fury  supervened  again.  "  God !  "  he 
cried  fiercely.  "  Give  me  back  my  wife.  You're  a  thief. 
Give  her  back  to  me,  I  say.  She's  mine,  d'you  understand 
—  mine ! " 

Not  for  an  instant  did  the  smile  on  James'  face  relax. 
Maybe  it  became  more  set,  and  his  lips,  perhaps,  tightened, 
but  the  smile  was  there,  hard,  unyielding  in  its  very  setness. 
And  when  Scipio's  appeal  came  to  an  end  he  spoke  with  an 
underlying  harshness  that  did  not  carry  its  way  to  the  little 
man's  distracted  brain. 

"  She  wouldn't  go  back  to  you,  even  if  I  let  her  —  which 
I  won't,"  he  said  coldly. 

The  man's  words  seemed  to  bite  right  into  the  heart  of 
his  hearer.  Nothing  could  have  been  better  calculated  to 
goad  him  to  extremity.  In  one  short,  harsh  sentence  he  had 
dashed  every  hope  that  the  other  possessed.  And  with  a 
rush  the  stricken  man  leapt  at  denial,  which  was  heart- 
rending in  its  impotence. 

"  You  lie ! "  he  shouted.  The  old  revolver  was  dragged 
from  his  pocket  and  pointed  shakingly  at  his  tormentor's 
head.  "  Give  her  back  to  me !  Give  her  back,  or  — " 

James*  desperate  courage  never  deserted  him  for  an  in- 
stant. And  Scipio  was  never  allowed  to  complete  his  sen- 
tence. The  other's  hand  suddenly  reached  out,  and  the 
pistol  was  twisted  from  his  shaking  grasp  with  as  little 
apparent  effort  as  though  he  had  been  a  small  child. 

Scipio  stared  helpless  and  confused  while  James  eyed  the 
pattern  of  the  gun.  Then  he  heard  the  man's  contemptuous 
laugh  and  saw  him  pull  the  trigger.  The  hammer  refused 
to  move.  It  was  so  rusted  that  the  weapon  was  quite  use- 
less. For  a  moment  the  desperado's  eyes  sought  the  pale 
face  of  his  would-be  slayer.  A  devilish  smile  lurked  in  their 
depths.  Then  he  held  out  the  pistol  for  the  other  to  take, 
while  his  whole  manner  underwent  a  hideous  change. 


HUSBAND  AND  LOVER  85 

"Here,  take  it,  you  wretched  worm,"  he  cried,  with 
sudden  savagery.  "  Take  it,  you  miserable  fool,"  he  added, 
as  Scipio  remained  unheeding.  "  It  wouldn't  blow  even 
your  fool  brains  out.  Take  it !  "  he  reiterated,  with  a  com- 
mand the  other  could  no  longer  resist.  "  And  now  get  out 
of  here,''  he  went  on  mercilessly,  as  Scipio's  hand  closed  over 
the  wretched  weapon,  "  or  I'll  hand  you  over  to  the  boys. 
They'll  show  you  less  mercy  than  I  do.  They're  waiting 
out  there,"  he  cried,  pointing  at  the  door,  "  for  my  orders. 
One  word  from  me  and  they'll  cut  the  liver  out  of  you  with 
rawhides,  and  Abe  Conroy'll  see  it's  done  right.  Get  you 
right  out  of  here,  and  if  ever  you  come  squealing  around 
my  quarters  again  I'll  have  you  strung  up  by  your  wretched 
neck  till  you're  dead  —  dead  as  a  crushed  worm  —  dead  as 
is  your  wife,  Jessie,  to  you  from  now  out.  Get  out  of  here, 
you  straw-headed  sucker,  get  right  out,  quick !  " 

But  the  tide  of  the  man's  fury  seemed  to  utterly  pass  the 
little  man  by.  He  made  no  attempt  to  obey.  The  pistol 
hung  in  his  tightly  gripping  hand,  and  his  under-lip  pro- 
truded obstinately. 

"  She's  mine,  you  thief !  "  he  cried.  "  Give  her  back  to 
me." 

It  was  the  cry  of  a  beaten  man  whose  spirit  is 
unquenchable. 

But  James  had  finished.  All  that  was  worst  in  him  was 
uppermost  now.  With  eyes  blazing  he  stepped  to  the  door 
and  whistled.  He  might  have  been  whistling  up  his  dogs. 
Perhaps  those  who  responded  were  his  dogs.  Three  men 
came  in,  and  the  foremost  of  them  was  Abe  Conroy. 

"  Here,"  cried  James,  his  cruel  eyes  snapping,  "  take  him 
out  and  set  him  on  his  horse,  and  send  him  racing  to  hell 
after  m'squitoes.  And  don't  handle  him  too  easy." 

What  happened  to  him  after  that  Scipio  never  fully  under- 
stood. He  had  a  vague  memory  of  being  seized  and  buffeted 
and  kicked  into  a  state  of  semi-unconsciousness.  Nor  did  he 


86         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

rouse  out  of  his  stupor,  until,  sick  and  sore  in  every  limb, 
his  poor  yellow  head  aching  and  confused,  he  found  himself 
swaying  dangerously  about  in  the  saddle,  with  Gipsy,  racing 
like  a  mad  thing,  under  his  helpless  legs. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SUNNY   OAK    PROTESTS 

WILD  BILL  was  gazing  out  across  the  camp  dumps.  His 
expression  suggested  the  contemplation  of  a  problem  of  life 
and  death,  and  a  personal  one  at  that.  Sandy  Joyce,  too, 
bore  traces  suggestive  of  the  weightiest  moments  of  his  life. 
Toby  Jenks  stood  chewing  the  dirty  flesh  of  a  stubby  fore- 
finger, while  the  inevitable  smile  on  Sunny  Oak's  face  made 
one  think  of  a  bright  spring  morning  under  cover  of  a  yellow 
fog. 

"  How  am  I  to  see  to  them  pore  kiddies  ?  "  the  latter  was 
complaining.  "  I've  had  to  do  with  cattle,  an'  mules,  an' 
even  hogs  in  my  time,  but  I  sure  don't  guess  you  ken  set 
them  bits  o'  mites  in  a  brandin'  corral,  nor  feed  'em  oats  an' 
hay,  nor  even  ladle  'em  swill  for  supper,  like  hogs.  Fer 
other  things,  I  don't  guess  I  could  bile  a  bean  right  without 
a  lib'ry  o'  cook-books,  so  how  I'm  to  make  'em  elegant  pap 
for  their  suppers  'ud  beat  the  Noo  York  p'lice  force.  An' 
as  fer  fixin'  their  clothes,  an'  bathing  'em,  why,  it  'ud  set 
me  feelin'  that  fulish  you  wouldn't  know  me  from  a  patient 
in  a  bug-house.  It  makes  me  real  mad,  folks  is  allus  astin' 
me  to  get  busy  doin'  things.  I'm  that  sick,  the  sight  of  a 
ha'f-washened  kid  'ud  turn  my  stummick  to  bile,  an'  set  me 
cacklin'  like  a  hen  with  a  brood  o'  ducklings  she  can't  no 
ways  account  fer.  You'se  fellers  are  a  happy  lot  o'  Jonahs 
to  a  man  as  needs  rest." 

"  You're  sure  doing  the  cacklin'  now,"  observed  Bill  con- 
temptuously. 

"  Maybe  he's  layin'  eggs,"  murmured  Toby  vaguely. 


88         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

The  men  were  standing  on  the  veranda,  gathered  round 
the  bench  on  which  Sunny  Oak  was  still  resting  his  indolent 
body.  And  the  subject  of  their  discourse  was  Scipio's  two 
children.  The  father  had  ridden  off  on  his  search  for  James, 
and  the  responsibility  of  his  twins  was  weighing  heavily  on 
those  left  behind. 

"  Kind  o'  handy  ladlin'  it  out  to  folks,"  said  Sunny,  grin- 
ning lazily.  "  But,  with  all  your  brightness,  I  don't  guess  any 
o'  you  could  mother  them  kiddies.  No,  it's  jest '  send  Sunny 
along  to  see  to  'em/  That  bein'  said,  you'll  git  right  back 
to  your  poker  with  a  righteous  feelin'  which  makes  it  come 
good  to  rob  each  other  all  you  know.  Psha!  You  ain't 
no  better'n  them  lousy  birds  as  lays  eggs  sizes  too  big,  an' 
blames  'em  on  to  some  moultin'  sparrer  that  ain't  got 
feathers  'miff  to  make  it  welcome  at  a  scratchin'  bee." 

Sunny's  flow  was  a  little  overwhelming,  and  perhaps  there 
was  just  enough  truth  in  his  remarks  to  make  it  unadvisable 
for  the  others  to  measure  wits  with  him.  Anyway,  he  re- 
ceived no  reply.  Bill  continued  to  gaze  out  at  Scipio's  hut 
in  a  way  that  suggested  great  absorption,  while  Toby  had 
not  yet  lunched  sufficiently  off  his  tattered  forefinger. 
Sandy  was  the  only  one  of  the  three  apparently  alive  to  the 
true  exigencies  of  the  case,  and  Sunny  addressed  himself 
more  exclusively  to  him. 

"  Say,"  he  went  on,  his  good-humored  eyes  smiling  cun- 
ningly up  into  the  widower's  face,  "  I've  heerd  tell  that  you 
once  did  some  pore  unsuspicious  female  the  dirty  trick  of 
marryin'  her.  Mebbe  you'll  sure  hev'  notions  'bout  kiddies 
an'  such  things.  Now,  if  Wild  Bill  had  come  along  an' 
pushed  a  shootin'-iron  into  your  map,  an'  said  you'll  handle 
Zip's  kiddies  —  wal,  I  ask  you,  wot  'ud  you  ha'  done  ?  " 

"  Told  him  to  git  his  head  cooled  some,"  retorted  Sandy 
promptly. 

"  Ah,  guess  you  bin  saved  a  heap  o'  trouble,"  murmured 
Sunny.  "  But  if  you  hadn't  said  that  —  which  yon  said  you 


SUNNY  OAK  PROTESTS  89 

would  ha'  said  —  an'  you'd  got  busy  as  he  suggested  —  wal, 
what  then  ?  " 

Sandy  cleared  his  throat,  and,  in  his  sudden  interest,  Toby 
deferred  the  rest  of  his  meal. 

"  Wal,  I'd  ha'  gone  right  up  to  the  shack  an'  looked  into 
things." 

Sandy's  first  effort  seemed  to  please  him,  and,  hitching  his 
moleskin  trousers  up  deliberately,  he  proceeded  with  some 
unction  — 

"  Y'see,  ther'  ain't  nothin'  like  gettin'  a  look  around. 
Then  you  kind  o'  know  wher'  you  are.  You  sure  need  to 
know  wher'  you  are  'fore  you  get  busy  proper.  It's  most 
like  everything  else.  If  you  get  on  the  wrong  trail  at  the 
start,  it's  li'ble  to  lead  you  wher'  you  don't  want  to  go. 
What  I  says  is,  hit  the  right  trail  at  the  start,  then  you  got 
a  chance  o'  gettin'  thro'  right,  which,  I  take  it,  is  an  elegant 
way  o'  doin'  most  things.  Wal,  havin'  located  the  right 
trail—" 

"  We're  talkin'  o'  Zip's  twins,"  murmured  Sunny  gently. 

"  Sure,  that's  where  I'm  gettin'  to  — " 

"  By  trail  ?  "  inquired  Toby  seriously. 

"  Say,  you  make  me  tired,"  retorted  Sandy  angrily. 

"  Best  quit  the  trail,  then,"  said  Sunny. 

"  Go  to  blazes !  "  cried  Sandy,  and  promptly  relapsed  into 
moody  silence. 

At  that  moment  Bill  turned  from  his  contemplation  of  the 
house  beyond  the  dumps  and  fixed  his  fierce  eyes  on  Sunny's 
grinning  face. 

"  Here,  you  miser'ble  hoboe,"  he  cried,  "  get  right  up  out 
of  that,  and  hump  across  to  Zip's  shack.  You're  doin' 
enough  gassin'  fer  a  female  tattin'  bee.  Your  hot  air  makes 
me  want  to  sweat.  Now,  them  kiddies  '11  need  supper. 
You'll  jest  ast  Minky  fer  all  you  need,  an'  I  pay.  An'  you'll 
see  things  is  fixed  right  for  'em." 

Sunny  lurched   reluctantly   to  his   feet.     He  knew   the 


90         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

gambler  far  too  well  to  debate  the  point  further.  He  had 
made  his  protest,  which  had  been  utterly  ineffective,  so  there 
was  nothing  left  him  but  to  obey  the  fiercely  uttered  mandate. 

But  Sandy  Joyce  felt  that  somehow  his  first  effort  on 
behalf  of  the  children  had  missed  fire,  and  it  was  his  duty 
not  to  allow  himself  to  be  ousted  from  the  council.  So  he 
stayed  the  loafer  with  a  word. 

"  Say,  you'll  be  knowin'  how  to  feed  'em  ?  "  he  inquired 
gravely. 

Sunny's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Wai,  mebbe  you  ken  give  me  pointers,"  he  retorted,  with 
apparent  sincerity. 

"  That's  how  I  was  figgerin',"  said  Sandy  cordially.  He 
felt  better  now  about  his  first  effort.  "  Y'see,  Minky's  stock 
is  limited  some ;  ther'  ain't  a  heap  o'  variety,  like.  An'  kid- 
dies do  need  variety.  Y'see,  they're  kind  o'  delicate  feeders, 
same  as  high-bred  bosses,  an'  dogs  an'  things.  Now,  dogs 
need  diff'rent  meat  every  day,  if  you're  goin'  to  bring  'em 
up  right.  A  friend  o'  mine  sure  once  told  me  that  meat, 
good  meat,  was  the  best  feed  fer  prize  dogs,  an'  he  was  a 
feller  that  won  a  heap  o'  prizes.  He  had  one,  Boston  bull, 
I—" 

;<  '11  I  need  to  git  dog-biscuit  for  them  kiddies  ? "  in- 
quired Sunny  sarcastically. 

"  Say,  you  make  me  sick,"  cried  Sandy,  flushing 
angrily. 

"  Guess  that's  how  you'll  make  them  kiddies,"  interposed 
Toby. 

Sandy  glanced  viciously  from  one  to  the  other.  Then, 
assuming  a  superiority  that  scarcely  hid  his  chagrin,  he 
ignored  the  interruptions. 

"  You  best  ast  Minky  fer  some  dandy  canned  truck,"  he 
said  decisively,  deliberately  turning  his  back  on  Toby  Jenks. 
"  Mebbe  a  can  o'  lobster  an'  one  o'  them  elegant  tongues 
stewed  in  jelly  stuff,  an'  set  in  a  glass  bowl.  Y'see,  they 


SUNNY  OAK  PROTESTS  91 

kids  needs  nourishin',  an'  that  orter  fix  them  'bout  right.  I 
don't  know  'bout  them  new  sides  o'  sow-belly  Minky's  jest 
had  in.  Seems  to  me  they'll  likely  need  teeth  eatin'  that. 
Seein'  you  ain't  a  heap  at  fixin'  beans  right,  we  best  cut  that 
line  right  out  —  though  I  'lows  there's  elegant  nourishin' 
stuff  in  'em  for  hosses.  Best  get  a  can  o'  crackers  an'  some 
cheese.  I  don't  guess  they'll  need  onions,  nor  pickles.  But 
a  bit  o'  butter  to  grease  the  crackers  with,  an'  some  molasses 
an'  fancy  candy,  an'  a  pound  o'  his  best  tea  seems  to  me  'bout 
right.  After  that  — " 

"  Some  hoss  physic,"  broke  in  Toby,  recommencing  the 
chewing  of  his  forefinger. 

But  Wild  Bill's  fierce  eyes  were  on  Sandy,  and  the  erst- 
while married  man  felt  their  contempt  boring  into  his  very 
soul.  He  was  held  silent,  in  spite  of  his  anger  against  the 
broad-shouldered  Toby,  and  was  possessed  of  a  feeling  that 
somehow  his  second  effort  had  been  no  more  successful  than 
his  first.  And  forthwith  the  impression  received  confirma- 
tion in  a  sudden  explosion  from  Wild  Bill. 

"  Jumpin'  mackinaw ! "  he  cried,  with  a  force  calculated 
to  crush  entirely  the  remnants  of  Sandy's  conceit.  "  You'd 
sure  shame  a  crazy  sheep  fer  intellect."  Then  he  added, 
with  withering  sarcasm,  "  Say,  don't  you  never  leave  your 
mouth  open  more'n  two  seconds  at  a  time,  or  you'll  get  the 
flies  in  it,  an'—  they'll  start  riestin'." 

Then  without  pause  he  turned  on  Sunny  and  delivered 
his  ultimatum. 

"  Get  busy,"  he  ordered  in  a  tone  there  was  no  denying. 

And  somehow  Sunny  found  himself  stirring  far  more 
rapidly  than  suited  his  indolent  disposition. 

Having  thoroughly  disturbed  the  atmosphere  to  his  liking, 
Bill  left  the  veranda  without  another  look  in  his  companions' 
direction,  and  his  way  took  him  to  the  barn  at  the  back  of 
the  store. 

The  gambler  was  a  man  of  so  many  and  diverse  peculiar- 


92         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

ities  that  it  would  be  an  impossibility  to  catalogue  them  with 
any  degree  of  satis  factoriness.  But,  with  the  exception  of 
his  wholesale  piratical  methods  at  cards  —  indeed,  at  any 
kind  of  gambling  —  perhaps  his  most  striking  feature  was 
his  almost  idolatrous  worship  for  his  horses.  He  simply 
lived  for  their  well-being,  and  their  evident  affection  for 
himself  was  something  that  he  treasured  far  beyond  the  gold 
he  so  loved  to  take  from  his  opponents  in  a  gamble. 

He  possessed  six  of  these  horses,  each  in  its  way  a  jewel 
in  the  equine  crown.  Wherever  the  vagaries  of  his  gam- 
bler's life  took  him  his  horses  bore  him  thither,  harnessed  to 
a  light  spring  cart  of  the  speediest  type.  Each  animal  had 
cost  him  a  small  fortune,  as  the  price  of  horses  goes,  and  for 
breed  and  capacity,  both  in  harness  and  under  saddle,  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  find  their  match  anywhere  in  the 
State  of  Montana.  He  had  broken  and  trained  them  him- 
self in  everything,  and,  wherever  he  was,  whatever  other 
claims  there  might  be  upon  him,  morning,  noon  and  evening 
he  was  at  the  service  of  his  charges.  He  gloried  in  them. 
He  reveled  in  their  satin  coats,  their  well-nourished,  muscu- 
lar bodies,  in  their  affection  for  himself. 

Now  he  sat  on  an  oat-bin  contemplating  Gipsy's  empty 
stall,  with  a  regret  that  took  in  him  the  form  of  fierce  anger. 
It  was  the  first  time  since  she  had  come  into  his  possession 
that  she  had  been  turned  over  to  another,  the  first  time 
another  leg  than  his  own  had  been  thrown  across  her ;  and 
he  mutely  upbraided  himself  for  his  folly,  and  hated  Scipio 
for  having  accepted  her  services.  WThy,  he  asked  himself 
again  and  again,  had  he  been  such  an  unearthly  fool  ?  Then 
through  his  mind  flashed  a  string  of  blasphemous  invective 
against  James,  and  with  its  coming  his  regret  at  having  lent 
Gipsy  lessened. 

He  sat  for  a  long  time  steadily  chewing  his  tobacco.  And 
somehow  he  lost  all  desire  to  continue  his  poker  game  in  the 
store.  His  whole  mind  had  become  absorbed  by  thoughts  of 


SUNNY  OAK  PROTESTS  93 

this  James,  and  though  he,  personally,  had  never  suffered 
through  the  stage-robber's  depredations,  he  found  himself 
resenting  the  man's  very  existence.  There  were  no  ethical 
considerations  in  his  mind.  His  inspiration  was  purely  per- 
sonal. And  though  he  did  not  attempt  to  reduce  his  hatred 
to  reason,  nor  to  analyze  it  in  any  way,  the  truth  of  its 
existence  lay  in  the  fact  of  a  deadly  opposition  to  this  sudden 
rise  to  notoriety  of  a  man  of  strength,  and  force  of  character 
similar,  in  so  many  respects,  to  his  own.  Perhaps  it  was 
mere  jealousy;  perhaps,  all  unknown  to  himself,  there  was 
some  deeper  feeling  underlying  it.  Whatever  it  was,  he  had 
a  strong  sympathy  with  Scipio,  and  an  unconquerable  desire 
to  have  a  hand  in  the  smoothing  out  of  the  little  man's 
troubles. 

He  did  not  leave  the  barn,  and  scarcely  even  took  his  eyes 
off  Gipsy's  empty  stall,  until  nearly  sundown.  Then,  as  he 
heard  the  voices  of  returning  prospectors,  he  set  to  work  on 
his  evening  task  of  grooming,  feeding,  watering  and  bedding 
down  his  children  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SUNNY  OAK   TRIES    HIS    HAND 

IN  the  meantime  Sunny  Oak  was  executing  his  orders 
with  a  care  for  detail  quite  remarkable  in  a  man  of  his  ex- 
cessive indolence.  It  was  a  curious  fact,  and  one  that  told  a 
great  deal  of  his  own  character,  as  well  as  that  of  the  gam- 
bler. His  implicit  obedience  to  Wild  Bill's  orders  was  born 
of  a  deeper  knowledge  of  that  individual  than  was  possessed 
by  most  of  his  comrades  in  Suffering  Creek.  Maybe  Minky, 
who  was  Bill's  most  intimate  friend,  would  have  understood. 
But  then  Sunny  Oak  possessed  no  such  privilege.  He  knew 
Bill  through  sheer  observation,  which  had  taught  him  to 
listen  when  the  gambler  spoke  as  he  would  listen  to  a  man 
in  high  authority  over  him  —  or  to  a  man  who,  without 
scruple,  held  him  helpless  under  an  irresistible  threat. 
Which  power  it  was  inspired  his  obedience  he  did  not  pause 
to  consider.  He  simply  accepted  the  fact  that  when  Bill 
ordered  he  preferred  to  obey  —  it  was  so  much  easier. 

"  Hoboe  " —  the  local  term  for  one  suffering  from  his 
indolent  malady  —  as  he  was,  Sunny  Oak  was  a  man  of  some 
character.  Originally  this  cloak  of  indolence  in  which  he 
wrapped  himself  had  been  assumed  for  some  subtle  reason 
of  his  own.  It  was  not  the  actual  man.  But  so  long  had  he 
worn  it  now  that  he  had  almost  forgotten  the  real  attributes 
enshrouded  in  its  folds.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  very 
much  a  man,  and  a  "  live  "  man,  too.  He  really  possessed 
an  extraordinary  energy  when  he  chose  to  exercise  it.  But 
it  was  generally  his  habit  to  push  his  intere'st  aside  for  the 
easier  course  of  indifference.  However,  his  capacity  was 
none  the  less  there. 


SUNNY  OAK  TRIES  HIS  HAND  95 

His  other  possessions,  too,  were  excellent  in  their  way, 
although  he  had  encouraged  the  germ  of  rust  in  a  deplorable 
degree.  His  good-nature  would  not  be  denied,  and  was 
obvious  to  all.  But  an  extremely  alert  mind,  an  infinite 
resource  of  keen,  well-trained  thought,  a  profound  love  of 
the  beautiful,  a  more  commonplace  physical  courage  sup- 
ported by  the  rarer  moral  courage,  he  contrived  to  keep  well 
hidden  from  the  vulgar  gaze. 

These  were  some  of  the  features  so  long  concealed  under 
the  folds  of  his  cloak  of  indolence  that  even  he  had  almost 
forgotten  their  existence.  Thus  it  was,  in  all  seriousness,  he 
cried  out  bitterly  in  protest  when  an  attempt  was  made  to 
lift  the  covering  and  lay  bare  the  man  beneath  it.  And  his 
lamentations  were  perfectly  genuine. 

After  leaving  the  store  with  a  sack  of  provisions  over  his 
shoulder  he  grumbled  his  way  across  the  dumps  to  Scipio's 
house.  He  cursed  the  weight  he  was  forced  to  carry,  and 
anathematized  the  man  who  had  driven  him  to  so  bestir 
himself.  He  lamented  over  this  waste  of  his  precious 
energies,  he  consigned  Scipio  and  his  children  to  eternity, 
and  metaphorically  hurled  Jessie  headlong  to  the  depths  of 
the  uttermost  abyss  of  the  nether-world.  But  he  went  on. 
In  spite  of  his  foulest  language  and  vilest  epithets,  it  was 
his  full  intention  to  do  his  best  for  the  children. 

What  he  found  on  entering  Scipio's  hut  set  his  small  eyes 
twinkling  again.  His  unclean  face  creased  up  into  a  grin, 
and,  softly  tiptoeing  to  a  far  corner  of  the  room,  he  de- 
posited his  sack  with  the  greatest  care.  Then  he  stood  up, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  a  curious  heap  under  the 
table.  It  was  a  tumbled  pile  of  pale  blue,  dirty  white,  with 
a  four-legged  dash  of  yellow.  And  out  of  the  heap  he  made 
the  forms  of  two  small  sleeping  children,  each  hugging  in 
their  arms  an  extremity  of  a  yellow  cur  pup,  also  sound 
asleep,  in  the  shaft  of  sunlight  which  flooded  in  through  the 
open  doorway. 


96         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Sunny  rubbed  his  eyes  and  thought  hard,  nor  did  he  find 
the  process  irksome.  From  the  miserable  camp  pup  he 
glanced  at  the  grubby  face  of  Jamie.  Then  his  eyes  passed 
on  to  Vada's  pretty  but  equally  dirty  features.  And  swift 
action  at  once  followed  his  thought.  He  glanced  at  the 
dying  fire  in  the  cookstove,  and  saw  the  small  clothes  hang- 
ing on  the  chair  in  front  of  it.  He  felt  them;  they  were 
quite  dry.  Then  he  tried  the  kettle  on  the  stove ;  it  still  had 
water  in  it.  Then  he  went  to  .the  fuel-box ;  yes,  there  was 
fuel. 

Now  with  his  fingers  he  replenished  the  fire,  and  noise- 
lessly re-filled  the  kettle.  Then  he  removed  the  clothes 
and  put  the  chair  aside.  The  children  still  slept  on.  He 
further  investigated  the  resources  of  Scipio's  menage.  He 
found  a  wash-bowl  and  soap  and  a  towel,  three  things  he 
rarely  sought  for  any  purposes  of  his  own.  Then,  after 
looking  into  the  cupboard,  he  shook  his  head.  It  was  de- 
plorably bare  of  all  but  uncleanliness.  And  it  was  the  for- 
mer that  caused  his  headshake,  not  the  latter.  With  some 
pride  he  re-stocked  the  shelves  with  the  liberal  purchases  he 
had  made  at  Bill's  expense.  He  had  provided  everything 
that  a  man's  mind  could  conceive  as  being  necessary  for  the 
interior  of  healthy  childhood.  True,  he  had  made  no  pro- 
vision for  a  yellow  pup. 

By  this  time  the  kettle  was  boiling,  and  it  served  him  as 
a  signal.  In  a  harsh,  untuneful  voice  he  began  to  chant 
an  old  coon-ditty.  The  effect  of  his  music  was  instan- 
taneous as  regards  the  more  sensitive  ears  of  the  pup.  Its 
eyes  opened,  and  it  lifted  its  head  alertly.  Then,  with  a 
quick  wriggle,  he  sat  up  on  his  hind  quarters,  and,  throwing 
his  lean,  half-grown  muzzle  in  the  air,  set  up  such  a  howl 
of  dismay  that  Sunny's  melody  became  entirely  lost  in  a 
jangle  of  discords.  He  caught  up  his  empty  sack  and  flung 
it  at  the  wailing  pup's  head.  It  missed  its  aim,  and  in  a 
moment  the  twins  had  joined  in  their  yellow  friend's  lament. 


SUNNY  OAK  TRIES  HIS  HAND  97 

Sunny  never  quite  understood  the  real  cause  of  that  dis- 
mal protest  —  whether  it  was  the  sight  of  him,  his  doleful 
singing,  or  the  flinging  of  the  sack.  All  he  knew  was  that  it 
was  very  dreadful,  and  must  be  stopped  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible. So,  to  that  end,  he  began  to  cajole  the  children, 
while  he  surreptitiously  let  fly  a  kick  at  the  pup. 

"  Say,  you  bonny  kids,  you  ain't  scairt  o'  poor  Sunny 
Oak,"  he  cried,  while  a  streak  of  yellow  flashed  in  the 
sunlight  and  vanished  through  the  door,  a  departure 
which  brought  with  it  renewed  efforts  from  the  weeping 
children.  "  It's  jest  Sunny  Oak  wot  nobody  Jll  let  rest," 
he  went  on  coaxingly.  "  He's  come  along  to  feed  you  sup- 
per. Say,"  he  cried,  laboring  hard  for  inspiration,  "  it's 
such  a  bully  supper.  Ther's  molasses,  an'  candy,  an' — an' 
lob-ster!" 

Whether  it  was  the  smacking  of  his  lips  as  he  dwelt  on 
the  last  word,  or  whether  it  was  merely  the  fact  that  their 
fright  was  passing,  matters  little ;  anyhow,  the  cries  of  the 
twins  died  out  as  suddenly  as  they  began,  and  their  eyes, 
big  and  round,  gazed  wonderingly  up  at  Sunny's  unkempt 
face. 

"  Who's  you,  ugly  man  ?  "  asked  Vada  at  last,  her  brain 
working  more  quickly  than  her  brother's. 

"  'Ess  —  ug'y  man,"  added  Jamie  unmeaningly. 

Sunny's  hand  went  up  to  his  face,  and  he  scratched 
amongst  his  sparse  beard  as  though  to  test  the  accuracy  of 
the  accusation.  Then  he  grinned  sheepishly. 

"  Guess  I'm  jest  an  ugly  fairy  that  wants  to  be  kind  to 
two  lonesome  kiddies,"  he  beamed. 

"  O  —  oh !    You'se  a  fairy  ?  "  said  Vada  doubtfully. 

"  'Ess,"  nodded  Jamie,  thrilling  with  wonderment,  and 
eyeing  him  critically. 

Elated  with  his  success,  Sunny  went  on  warmly  — 

"  Yep.  Jest  a  fairy,  an'  I  bro't  a  heap  o'  good  grub  f er 
you  kiddies  t'  eat." 


98         THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

But  Vada's  small  brain  was  following  out  its  own  train 
of  thought,  and  passed  the  food  question  by. 

"  Awful  ugly,"  she  said,  half  to  herself. 

"  'Ess,"  muttered  Jamie  abstractedly. 

"  Mebbe,"  said  Sunny,  with  a  laugh.  "  Wai,  if  you  crawl 
right  out  o'  there  an'  git  around,  I  got  things  fixed  so  we'll 
hev'  a  bully  time." 

But  his  proposition  hadn't  the  effect  he  hoped.  Instead 
of  moving,  Jamie  suddenly  beat  his  head  with  his  little 
clenched  fists. 

"  Me  wants  yaller  pup,"  he  cried,  and  forthwith  howled 
afresh. 

Again  Sunny  realized  his  helplessness,  and,  glancing  about 
for  further  inspiration,  caught  sight  of  an  inquiring  yellow 
head  peering  furtively  in  through  the  doorway. 

"  Why,  ther'  he  is,"  he  cried,  vainly  hoping  to  pacify  the 
child.  Then  he  began  at  once  a  clumsy  encouragement  of 
the  dog.  "  Here,  you  yeller  feller,"  he  cried,  flicking  his 
fingers  coaxingly.  "  Come  along !  Gee,  you're  a  pretty 
feller.  Hi !  come  along  here." 

But  the  dog  made  no  attempt  to  move,  and  Sunny  began 
to  lose  patience.  "  Come  along,  pups,"  he  cried,  with 
increasing  force.  "  Come  on,  you  miser'ble  rat.  Don't 
stan'  ther'  waggin'  your  fool  tail  like  a  whisk-broom.  Say, 
you  yaller  cur,  I'll — "  He  started  to  fetch  the  creature, 
but  in  a  twinkling  it  had  fled,  to  the  accompaniment  of  a 
fresh  outburst  from  Jamie. 

"  I  tho't  you  was  a  fairy,"  protested  Vada.  "  Fairies  ken 
do  most  anything.  You're  jest  an  ugly  ole  man." 

Sunny  stood  up  and  drew  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his 
perspiring  forehead.  He  was  worried.  The  fairy  business 
was  played  out,  and  he  felt  that  he  must  begin  again. 
Children  were  by  no  means  as  easy  to  handle  as  he  had 
thought.  He  racked  his  brains,  and  suddenly  bethought  him 
of  another  move. 


SUNNY  OAK  TRIES  HIS  HAND  99 

In  spite  of  Jamie's  whimpering,  he  went  to  the  cupboard 
and  produced  a  tin  of  molasses.  This  he  carefully  opened 
in  full  view  of  Vada's  questioning  eyes.  Jamie  had  also 
become  silent,  watching  him  intently.  He  dug  his  finger 
into  the  sticky  contents  and  drew  it  out.  Then  he  licked 
his  finger  with  tremendous  enjoyment. 

"  Bully/'  he  muttered,  apparently  ignoring  the  children. 

Instantly  Vada  was  on  her  knees,  crawling  from  under 
the  table,  followed  closely  by  her  faithful  shadow.  She 
came  cautiously  up  to  Sunny's  side  and  stood  up. 

"  M'lasses?  "  she  inquired,  and  her  eyes  spoke  volumes. 

"  O-oh ! "  muttered  Jamie,  scrambling  to  his  feet  beside 
her  holding  up  one  fat  hand. 

Sunny,  without  replying,  allowed  them  to  dip  their 
fingers  into  the  pot  and  taste  the  molasses.  He  felt  that 
the  moment  was  critical,  and  he  would  not  risk  words 
which  might  easily  set  them  scuttling  back  to  their  strong- 
hold. 

His  strategy  was  successful.  Up  came  the  hands  again, 
and  he  knew  he  had  won  their  confidence.  He  allowed 
them  another  dip  into  the  pot,  and  then  began  the  business 
in  hand. 

"We'll  save  the  rest  fer  bimeby,"  he  said  decidedly. 
"  Meanwhiles  we'll  fix  things  right." 

"  Wot  things?  "  inquired  Vada. 

"  M'lasses,"  said  Jamie,  with  tearful  eyes. 

Again  Sunny  felt  the  crisis,  but  he  carried  the  situation 
with  a  firm  hand. 

"  Bimeby,  laddie,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  Meanwhiles  we'll 
jest  have  a  wash  all  round." 

And  forthwith  he  set  the  wash-bowl  ready  and  filled  it 
with  warm  water.  Then,  after  some  consideration  and 
trouble,  having  discovered  a  rag  which  had  been  used  in  the 
household  "  wash-up,"  and  a  piece  of  soap,  he  prepared  to 
start  on  little  Vada.  But  she  instantly  protested. 


ioo       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"You  first,  Mister  Fairy,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "My 
poppa  allus  washes  first.  Then  we  has  his  water." 

"  'Ess,"  agreed  Jamie. 

And,  to  his  disgust,  Sunny  was  forced  to  an  unwilling 
ablution,  which,  by  strategy,  he  had  hoped  to  escape.  How- 
ever, the  ordeal  was  manfully  borne,  and  his  reward  was 
quite  worth  his  trouble.  Vada  promptly  exclaimed  when 
she  saw  his  face  emerge  from  the  dirty  towel,  shining  with 
grease  off  the  house-flannel. 

"  You'se  a  fairy,  sure,"  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands  and 
dancing  about  gleefully.  "  On'y  fairies  can  change  their- 
selves.  You'se  a  pretty,  pretty  man  —  now.  Now,  Jamie 
dear.  You  next,"  she  added,  with  feminine  assurance. 
And  with  clumsy  but  willing  enough  hands  Sunny  Oak  con- 
trived to  cleanse  his  charges. 

By  the  time  his  task  was  accomplished  perfect  good-will 
reigned  all  round,  and  the  climax  was  reached  when  the 
yellow  pup  returned  of  its  own  accord,  and  was  promptly 
hugged  to  Jamie's  affectionate  little  bosom. 

The  next  thing  was  to  prepare  the  children's  supper. 
This  was  a  far  more  serious  matter  for  the  loafer.  But  he 
finally  achieved  it,  having  learnt,  by  the  process  of  cross- 
questioning  the  girl,  what  was  usual  and  therefore  expected. 
However,  it  was  not  without  some  difficulty  that  he  suc- 
ceeded in  providing  an  adequate  meal,  which  consisted  of 
bread  and  milk,  with  bread  and  molasses  as  a  sort  of  des- 
sert. For  himself,  he  was  forced  to  fare  off  a  tin  of  lobster 
and  tea.  Still,  his  difficulties  were  not  of  much  consequence 
so  long  as  the  children  were  satisfied.  And  any  bother  to 
himself  was  his  own  fault,  in  having  relied  for  a  moment 
on  Sandy  Joyce's  ideas  of  a  menu. 

Supper  over  and  the  table  cleared,  he  decided  on  further 
catechizing  little  Vada  on  points  that  still  were  a  mystery 
to  him.  So,  with  Jamie  busy  on  the  floor  endeavoring  to 
solve  the  mystery  of  the  pup's  wagging  tail,  he  lit  his  pipe 


SUNNY  OAK  TRIES  HIS  HAND  101 


and  took  Vada  on  his  knee.  He  «n3^y(}ffi<J  to  'r^c 
incidents  of  his  own  childhood;  tp.  remember  something 
of  his  own  early  routine.  But  sonijehow  nothing  wafe^ry/ 
clear. 

He  had  washed  the  children  and  given  them  food.  Those 
things  seemed  to  him  to  be  perfectly  sound.  Well,  what 
next?  It  was  a  little  difficult.  He  glanced  at  the  sun. 
Surely  bed  would  be  quite  in  order.  Bed  —  ah,  yes,  that 
was  a  happy  thought.  He  remembered  now,  when  he  was 
young  he  always  used  to  get  himself  into  trouble  purposely 
so  they  would  send  him  to  bed.  But  with  this  thought  came 
the  regretful  recollection  that  his  predilection  for  bed  was 
quickly  discovered,  and  his  further  penalties  took  the  form 
of  the  buckle  end  of  his  father's  waist-belt.  However,  he 
put  the  proposition  with  much  tact. 

"  Say,  kiddies,"  he  began,  "  how  soon  does  your  momma 
put  you  to  bed?" 

Vada  shook  her  wise  little  head. 

"  Momma  don't.     Poppa  does." 

"  And  when's  that  ?  "  he  inquired,  driving  at  his  point 
deliberately. 

"  When  momma  says." 

Vada  was  fastening  and  unfastening  the  man's  dirty 
waistcoat  with  great  interest. 

"  An'  when  does  your  momma  say  it  ?  "  Sunny  persisted. 

"  When  poppa's  done  the  chores." 

"Ah!" 

He  felt  himself  on  the  wrong  tack,  and  cast  about  for  a 
fresh  line  of  argument. 

"  Guess  you  kiddies  like  bed  some,"  he  hazarded  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Me  like  m'lasses,"  piped  Jamie,  who  had  managed  to 
get  the  pup's  tail  over  his  shoulder,  and  was  hanging  on 
to  it  with  both  hands.  Vada  shrieked  as  the  pup  began 
to  yelp. 


102       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"-  Oh,  look  at  Jamie,"  she  cried.     "  He's  pulling  Dougal's 
tail  right  out.     You're  a  naughty,  naughty  boy." 
•  "'  Not  naughty;"/protested  Jamie,  pulling  harder. 

Sunny  reached  down  and  released  the  mongrel,  who 
promptly  turned  round  and  licked  the  boy's  face.  Jamie 
fought  him  with  his  little  clenched  fists,  and  finally  began 
to  cry. 

Again  Sunny  went  to  the  rescue,  and  with  some  difficulty 
peace  was  restored.  Then  he  went  back  to  his  subject. 

"  Guess  we'll  hev  to  go  to  bed  right  now,"  he  suggested, 
with  an  air  of  authority. 

"  Momma  ain't  back,"  said  Vada,  her  eyes  round  and 
wondering. 

"  She'll  be  right  along  presently,"  lied  Sunny. 

"  'Ess,"  declared  Jamie,  "  an' —  an' —  we  go  find  'piders 
an'  —  an'  bugs." 

Vada  nodded. 

"  Lots  an'  lots." 

"  That's  to-morrow,"  said  Sunny,  taking  his  cue  wonder- 
ingly. 

"  Poppa  ain't  back  neither,"  protested  Vada. 

"  He's  gone  visitin',"  said  Sunny.  "  Maybe  he'll  be  late. 
Guess  he's  havin'  a  hand  at  poker  down  at  the  store." 

Sunny  was  getting  uncomfortably  hot.  Lies  came  easily 
enough  to  him  in  the  ordinary  way,  but  with  these  poor 
children  it  was  somehow  different. 

"Poppa  don't  play  poker,"  defended  Vada.  "  On'y 
wicked  men  does." 

"  'Ess,"  agreed  Jamie. 

"  That's  so."     Sunny  felt  himself  on  dangerous  ground. 

He  smoked  on  thoughtfully  for  some  moments.  He  felt 
that  a  desperate  move  was  required,  and  considered  how  best 
to  make  it.  Finally  he  resolved  that  he  must  assert  his 
authority.  So,  setting  Vada  on  the  ground,  he  stood  up. 

"  Bed,"  he  said,  with  a  great  assumption  of  finality. 


SUNNY  OAK  TRIES  HIS  HAND  103 

Vada's  eyes  rolled  ominously,  and  a  pucker  came  to  her 
little  sunburnt  brow.  Jamie  offered  no  preliminary,  but 
howled  at  once.  And  when,  after  the  slightest  hesitation, 
Vada  joined  in  his  lament,  Sunny's  distress  became  pitiable. 
However,  he  managed  to  ease  his  feelings  by  several  well- 
directed  mental  curses  at  Wild  Bill's  head,  and  all  those 
others  concerned  in  reducing  him  to  his  present  position. 
And  with  this  silently  furious  outburst  there  came  a  brain- 
wave of  great  magnitude. 

"  First  in  bed  sure  gets  most  m'lasses,"  he  cried,  darting 
to  the  cupboard  door  and  holding  the  well-smeared  pot  up 
above  his  head. 

The  children's  cries  ceased,  and  for  a  second  they  stood 
staring  up  at  him.  Then,  like  a  pair  of  rabbits,  they  turned 
and  ran  for  the  bedroom,  vanishing  behind  the  curtain 
amidst  shrieking  excitement.  Sunny  followed  them  with 
the  molasses  and  a  handful  of  crackers. 

They  were  both  on  the  bed  when  he  passed  into  the 
room,  huddling  down  under  a  couple  of  cotton  blankets. 
The  man  glanced  round  him.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
room  was  the  big  bed  where  their  father  and  mother 
slept.  Both  beds  were  unmade,  and  the  room  was  littered 
with  feminine  garments  in  a  manner  that  suggested  the 
mother's  hasty  flight.  Hardened  as  he  was,  the  sight  and 
all  it  suggested  depressed  him.  But  he  was  not  allowed 
much  time  for  reflection.  Two  childish  voices  shrieked  at 
him  at  once. 

"  Me  first !  "  they  cried  in  one  breath. 

And  Sunny  ladled  them  out  molasses  and  crackers  to  their 
hearts'  content.  When  they  had  eaten  all  he  thought  good 
for  them  Vada  scrambled  to  her  knees. 

"  Prayers,"  she  said,  and  clasped  her  hands  before  her 
face. 

Jamie  wobbled  up  to  her  side  and  imitated  her.  And 
Sunny  stood  by  listening  wonderingly  to  something  that 


io4       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

brought  back  a  world  of  recollection  to  him.  It  brought 
him  more.  It  laid  before  him  a  mental  picture  of  his  pres- 
ent manhood  which  somehow  nauseated  him.  But  he  stood 
his  ground  till  the  final  "  Amens,"  then  he  hustled  the  twins 
almost  roughly  into  the  blankets,  and,  having  extracted  a 
promise  from  them  not  to  leave  the  bed  again  until  he 
returned,  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  living-room.  He  was  in 
a  doubt  that  almost  confused  him.  Mechanically  he  looked 
at  the  stove.  The  fire  was  quite  safe.  The  window  was 
secure.  Then  he  moved  to  the  door.  There  was  a  lock  to 
it  and  a  key.  He  passed  out,  and,  locking  the  door  behind 
him,  removed  the  key. 

"  Gee !  "  he  exclaimed,  drinking  in  a  breath  of  the  evening 
air,. "  five  minutes  more  o'  that  an'  I'd  'a'  bin  singin'  funeral 
hymns  over  my  past  life.  Gee !  " 

Ten  minutes  later  he  was  in  Wild  Bill's  hut  down  at 
the  camp,  and  had  finished  his  account  of  his  adventures. 

"  Say,"  he  finished  up  peevishly,  "  ther's  things  a  feller 
can  do,  an'  things  he  sure  can't.  I  tell  you  right  here  I  ain't 
learned  how  to  cluck  to  my  chicks,  an'  I  ain't  never  scratched 
a  worm  in  my  life.  I  'low  I'm  too  old  to  git  busy  that  ways 
now.  If  you're  goin'  to  raise  them  kids  fer  Zip  while  he's 
away,  it'll  need  a  committee  o'  us  fellers.  It's  more'n  one 
feller's  job  —  much  more.  It  needs  a  wummin." 

Bill  listened  patiently  until  his  deputy  had  aired  his  final 
grievance.  His  fierce  eyes  had  in  them  a  peculiar  twinkle 
that  was  quite  lost  on  Sunny  in  his  present  mood.  How- 
ever, when  the  injured  man  had  finished  his  tale  of  woe  the 
gambler  stretched  his  long  legs  out,  and  lolled  back  in  his 
chair  with  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco  in  his  mouth. 

"You  ain't  done  too  bad,"  he  said  judicially.  "That 
m'lasses  racket  was  a  heap  smart.  Though  —  say,  you'll  get 
around  ther'  come  sun-up  to-morrer,  an'  you'll  fix  'em  right 


SUNNY  OAK  TRIES  HIS  HAND  105 

all  day.  Maybe  Zip  '11  be  back  later.  Anyways,  you'll  fix 
'em." 

"Not  on  your  life — "  began  Sunny,  in  fierce  rebellion. 
But  Bill  cut  him  short. 

"  You'll  do  it,  Sunny,"  he  cried,  "  an*  don't  you  make  no 
mistake." 

The  man's  manner  was  irresistibly  threatening,  and  Sunny 
was  beaten  back  into  moody  silence.  But  if  looks  could 
have  killed,  Bill's  chances  of  life  were  small  indeed. 

"  Guess  you're  off  duty  now,"  the  gambler  went  on  icily. 
"  You're  off  duty  till  —  sun-up.  You're  free  to  get  drunk, 
or  —  what  in  hell  you  like." 

Sunny  rose  from  his  seat.  His  rebellious  eyes  were 
fiercly  alight  as  he  regarded  his  master. 

"  May  your  soul  rot !  "  he  cried  venomously.  And  with 
this  final  impotent  explosion  he  slouched  out  of  the  hut. 

"  Dessay  it  will,"  Bill  called  after  him  amiably.  "  But 
it  ain't  started  yet." 

But  his  jibe  was  quite  lost  on  the  angry  Sunny,  for  he 
had  left  him  with  the  haste  of  a  man  driven  to  fear  of 
whither  his  anger  might  carry  him. 

Left  alone,  Wild  Bill  chuckled.  He  liked  Sunny,  but 
despised  his  mode  of  life  with  all  the  arrogant  superiority  of 
a  man  of  great  force,  even  if  of  indifferent  morals.  He 
had  no  patience  with  a  weakened  manhood.  With  him  it 
was  only  strength  that  counted.  Morality  was  only  for 
those  who  had  not  the  courage  to  face  a  mysterious  future 
unflinchingly.  The  future  concerned  him  not  at  all.  He 
had  no  fears  of  anybody  or  anything,  either  human  or  super- 
human. Death  offered  him  no  more  terrors  than  Life. 
And  whichever  was  his  portion  he  was  ready  to  accept  it 
unquestioningly,  unprotestingly. 

He  allowed  the  hoboe  time  to  get  well  clear  of  his  shack. 
Then  he  stood  up  and  began  to  pace  the  room  thoughtfully. 
A  desperate  frown  depressed  his  brows  until  they  met  over 


io6       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

the  bridge  of  his  large  thin  nose.  Something  was  working 
swiftly,  even  passionately,  in  his  brain,  and  it  was  evident 
that  his  thoughts  were  more  than  unpleasant  to  himself.  As 
the  moments  passed  his  strides  became  more  aggressive, 
and  his  movements  were  accompanied  by  gesticulations  of  a 
threatening  nature  with  his  clenched  fists. 

At  last  he  paused  in  his  walk,  and  dropped  again  into  his 
chair.  Here  he  sat  for  a  long  while.  Then,  of  a  sudden, 
he  lifted  his  head  and  glanced  swiftly  about  his  bare  room. 
Finally  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  crushed  his  slouch  hat 
on  his  head,  and,  crossing  over  to  the  oil-lamp  on  the 
table,  blew  it  out.  Then  he  passed  out  into  the  night, 
slamming  and  locking  the  door  behind  him. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  the  moon  would  not  rise  for  at 
least  another  hour.  The  air  was  still  laden  with  the  heat  of 
the  long  summer's  day,  and  it  hummed  with  the  music  of 
stirring  insect  life.  He  strode  along  the  trail  past  the  store. 
He  glanced  at  the  lighted  windows  longingly,  for  he  had 
an  appointment  for  a  game  in  there  that  night.  But  he 
passed  on. 

As  he  came  to  the  camp  dumps  he  paused  for  a  moment 
to  take  his  bearings.  Then  he  continued  his  way  with  long, 
decided  strides,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  dim  outline  of 
Scipio's  house  loomed  up  before  him.  He  came  close  up, 
and  walked  slowly  round  it.  At  one  window  he  paused, 
listening.  There  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  outside.  At 
the  window  of  the  bedroom  he  listened  a  long  time.  No,  he 
could  not  even  hear  the  children  breathing. 

At  last  he  reached  the  door  which  Sunny  had  locked.  He 
cautiously  tried  the  handle,  and  the  sound  brought  a  whim- 
per from  the  yellow  pup  within.  He  cursed  the  animal 
softly  under  his  breath  and  waited,  hoping  the  wretched 
creature  would  settle  down  again.  He  heard  it  snuff  at  the 
foot  of  the  door,  and  then  the  soft  patter  of  its  feet  died 


SUNNY  OAK  TRIES  HIS  HAND  107 

away,  and  he  knew  that  the  poor  thing  had  satisfied  itself 
that  all  was  well. 

He  smiled,  and  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  door.  And, 
with  his  knees  drawn  up  into  his  arms,  he  prepared  for  his 
long  vigil.  It  was  the  posting  of  the  night  sentry  over 
Scipio's  twins. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WILD  BILL  THINKS   HARD  —  AND   HEARS    NEWS 

WILD  BILL  stretched  himself  drowsily.  It  was  noon.  He 
knew  that  by  the  position  of  the  patch  of  sunlight  on  the 
floor,  which  he  gazed  at  with  blinking  eyes.  Presently  he 
reached  out  his  long  arms  and  clasped  his  hands  behind  his 
head.  He  lay  there  on  his  stretcher  bed,  still  very  sleepy, 
but  with  wakefulness  gaining  ascendancy  rapidly.  He  had 
completed  two  successive  nights  of  "sentry-go"  over  Scipio's 
twins,  never  reaching  his  blankets  until  well  after  sun-up. 

For  some  minutes  he  enjoyed  the  delicious  idleness  of  a 
still  brain.  Then,  at  last,  it  stirred  to  an  activity  which 
once  again  set  flowing  all  the  busy  thought  of  his  long 
night's  vigil.  Further  rest  became  impossible  to  a  man  of 
his  temperament,  and  he  sprang  from  his  blankets  and 
plunged  his  face  into  a  bucket  of  fresh  water  which  stood 
on  an  adjacent  bench.  In  five  minutes  he  was  ready  for  the 
business  of  the  day. 

It  was  to  be  a  day  of  activity.  He  felt  that.  Yet  he  had 
made  no  definite  plans.  Only  all  his  thoughts  of  the 
previous  night  warned  him  that  something  must  be  done, 
and  that  it  was  "  up  to  him  to  get  busy." 

A  long  wakeful  night  is  apt  to  distort  many  things  of 
paramount  interest.  But  the  morning  light  generally  re- 
duces them  to  their  proper  focus.  Thus  it  is  with  people 
who  are  considered  temperamental.  But  Bill  had  no  such 
claims.  He  was  hard,  unimaginative,  and  of  keen  decision. 
And  over-night  he  had  arrived  at  one  considerable  decision. 
How  he  had  arrived  at  it  he  hardly  knew.  Perhaps  it  was 


WILD  BILL  THINKS  HARD  109 

one  of  those  decisions  that  cannot  be  helped.  Certain  it 
was  that  it  had  been  arrived  at  through  no  definite  course  of 
reasoning.  It  had  simply  occurred  to  him  and  received  his 
approval  at  once.  An  approval,  which,  once  given,  was 
rarely,  if  ever,  rescinded.  This  was  the  man. 

He  had  first  thought  a  great  deal  about  Scipio.  He  felt 
that  the  time  had  come  when  his  fate  must  be  closely 
inquired  into.  The  blundering  efforts  of  Sunny  Oak  were 
so  hopelessly  inadequate  in  the  care  of  the  children,  that 
only  the  return  of  their  father  could  save  them  from  some 
dire  domestic  catastrophe. 

Sunny  apparently  meant  well  by  them.  But  Bill  hated 
well-meaning  people  who  disguised  their  incompetence  un- 
der the  excellence  of  their  intentions.  Besides,  in  this  case 
it  was  so  useless.  These  two  children  were  a  nuisance,  he 
admitted,  but  they  must  not  be  allowed  to  suffer  through 
Sunny's  incompetence.  No,  their  father  must  be  found. 

Then  there  was  his  mare,  Gipsy ;  and  when  he  thought  of 
her  he  went  hot  with  an  alarm  which  no  threat  to  himself 
could  have  inspired.  This  turn  of  thought  brought  James 
into  his  focus.  That  personage  was  rarely  far  from  it,  and 
he  needed  very  little  prompting  to  bring  the  outlaw  into  the 
full  glare  of  his  mental  limelight.  He  hated  James.  He 
had  seen  him  rarely,  and  spoken  to  him  perhaps  only  a 
dozen  times,  when  he  first  appeared  on  Suffering  Creek. 
But  he  hated  him  as  though  he  were  his  most  bitter  personal 
enemy. 

He  had  no  reason  to  offer  for  this  hatred,  beyond  the 
outlaw's  known  depredations  and  the  constant  threat  of  his 
presence  in  the  district.  At  least  no  reason  he  would  have 
admitted  publicly.  But  then  Wild  Bill  was  not  a  man  to 
bother  with  reasons  much  at  any  time.  And  it  was  the 
venomous  hatred  of  the  man  which  now  drove  him  to  a 
decision  of  the  first  importance.  And  such  was  his  satisfac- 
tion in  the  interest  of  his  decision,  that,  for  the  time  being, 


no       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

at  least,  poker  was  robbed  of  its  charm,  faro  had  become  a 
game  of  no  consequence  whatever,  and  gambling  generally, 
with  all  its  subtleties  as  he  understood  them,  was  no  longer 
worth  while.  He  had  decided  upon  a  game  with  a  higher 
stake  than  any  United  States  currency  could  afford.  It  was 
a  game  of  life  and  death.  James,  "  Lord  "  James,  as  he 
contemptuously  declared,  must  go.  There  was  no  room  for 
him  in  the  same  district  as  Wild  Bill  of  Abilene. 

It  would  be  useless  to  seek  the  method  by  which  this 
decision  was  reached.  In  a  man  such  as  Bill  the  subtleties 
of  his  motives  were  far  too  involved  and  deeply  hidden. 
The  only  possible  chance  of  estimating  the  truth  would  be 
to  question  his  associates  as  to  their  opinion.  And  even 
then  such  opinions  would  be  biased  by  personal  under- 
standing of  the  man,  and  so  would  be  of  but  small  ac- 
count. 

Thus  Minky  would  probably  have  declared  that  his  deci- 
sion was  the  result  of  his  desire  for  the  welfare  of  the  com- 
munity in  which  he  claimed  his  best  friends.  Sandy  Joyce 
would  likely  have  shaken  his  head,  and  declared  it 
was  the  possibility  of  something  having  happened  to  his 
mare  Gipsy.  Toby  Jenks  might  have  had  a  wild  idea 
that  Bill  had  made  his  "  pile "  on  the  "  crook  "  and  was 
"  gettin'  religion."  Sunny  Oak,  whose  shrewd  mind  spent 
most  of  its  time  in  studying  the  peculiarities  of  his  fellows, 
might  have  whispered  an  opinion  to  himself,  when  no  one 
was  about,  to  the  effect  that  Bill  couldn't  stand  for  a  rival 
"  boss  "  around  Suffering  Creek. 

Any  of  these  opinions  might  have  been  right,  just  as  any 
of  them  might  have  been  very  wide  of  the  mark.  Anyhow, 
certain  it  is  that  no  citizen  of  Suffering  Creek  would,  even 
when  thoroughly  drunk,  have  accused  Bill  of  any  leaning 
towards  sentimentalism  or  chivalry.  The  idea  that  he  cared 
two  cents  for  what  became  of  Scipio,  or  his  wife,  or  his 
children,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  have  driven  into 


WILD  BILL  THINKS  HARD  in 

their  heads  with  a  sledge-hammer.  And  maybe  they  would 
have  been  right.  Who  could  tell  ? 

His  decision  was  taken  without  any  definite  argument, 
without  any  heroics.  He  frankly  declared  to  himself  that 
James  must  go.  And  having  decided,  he,  equally  frankly, 
declared  that  "  the  proposition  was  up  to  him."  This  was 
his  silent  ultimatum,  and,  having  delivered  it,  there  was  no 
turning  back.  He  would  carry  it  out  with  as  little  mercy 
to  himself  as  he  would  show  to  any  other  concerned. 

The  men  of  Suffering  Creek  thought  they  knew  this  man. 
But  it  is  doubtful  if  anybody,  even  the  man  himself,  knew 
Wild  Bill.  Probably  the  nearest  approach  to  a  fair  estimate 
of  him  would  have  been  to  describe  him  as  a  sort  of  driving 
force  to  a  keen  brain  and  hot,  passionate  heart.  Whether 
he  possessed  any  of  the  gentler  human  feelings  only  his  acts 
could  show,  for  so  hard  and  unyielding  was  his  manner,  so 
ruthless  his  purpose  when  his  mind  was  made  up,  that  it 
left  little  room  for  the  ordinary  observer  to  pack  in  a  belief 
of  the  softer  side  to  the  man. 

Ten  minutes  after  performing  his  primitive  ablutions 
Wild  Bill  was  eating  breakfast  in  the  dining-room  at  the 
store,  with  Minky  sitting  opposite  to  him.  The  storekeeper 
was  telling  him  of  something  that  happened  the  night  before, 
with  a  troubled  expression  in  his  honest  eyes. 

"  I  was  wonderin'  when  you'd  get  around,"  he  said,  as 
soon  as  Birdie  Mason  had  withdrawn  to  the  kitchen.  "  I'd 
have  given  a  deal  for  you  to  have  been  playin'  last  night.  I 
would  sure.  There  was  three  fellers,  strangers,  lookin'  for 
a  hand  at  poker.  They'd  got  a  fine  wad  o'  money,  too,  and 
were  ready  for  a  tall  game.  They  got  one  with  Irish 
O'Brien,  an'  Slade  o'  Kentucky,  but  they  ain't  fliers,  an' 
the  strangers  hit  'em  good  an'  plenty.  Guess  they  must 
ha'  took  five  hundred  dollars  out  of  'em." 

Bill's  sharp  eyes  were  suddenly  lifted  from  his  plate.  He 
was  eating  noisily. 


U2       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  Did  you  locate  'em  —  the  strangers  ?  "  he  grated. 

"  That's  sure  the  pinch,"  said  Minky,  wiping  his  broad 
forehead  with  a  colored  handkerchief.  The  heat  in  the  din- 
ing-room was  oppressive.  "  I've  never  see  'em  before,  an' 
they  didn't  seem  like  talkin'  a  heap.  They  were  all  three 
hard-lookin'  citizens,  an' — might  ha'  been  anything  from 
bum  cowpunchers  to — " 

"  Sharps,"  put  in  Bill,  between  noisy  sips  at  his  coffee. 

"  Yes." 

Minky  watched  a  number  of  flies  settle  on  a  greasy  patch 
on  the  bare  table. 

"  Y'see,"  he  went  on,  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  "  I  don't 
like  strangers  who  don't  seem  ready  tongued  —  none  of  us 
do,  since  the  stage-robbin'  set  in." 

"  You  mean  — "     Bill  set  his  cup  down. 

Minky  nodded. 

'  We  ain't  sent  out  a  parcel  of  gold  for  months,  an'  I'm 
kind  o'  full  up  with  dust  about  now.  Y'see,  the  boys  has 
got  to  cash  their  stuff,  and  I'm  here  to  make  trade,  so  —  wal, 
I  jest  got  to  fill  myself  with  gold-dust,  an'  take  my  chances. 
I'm  mighty  full  just  now  —  an'  strangers  worry  me  some." 

"  You're  weakenin',"  said  Bill  sharply,  but  his  eyes  were 
serious,  and  suggested  a  deep  train  of  swift  thought. 
Presently  he  reached  a  piece  of  bread  and  spread  molasses 
on  it. 

"  Guess  you're  figgerin'  it  Jud  be  safer  to  empty  out." 

Minky  nodded. 

"  And  these  strangers  ?  "  Bill  went  on. 

"  They've  lit  out,"  said  Minky  ruefully.  "  I  ast  a  few 
questions  of  the  boys.  They  rode  out  at  sun-up." 

"Where  did  they  slep?" 

"  Don't  know.     Nobody  seems  to  know." 

Minky  sighed  audibly.     And  Bill  went  on  eating. 

"  Ain't  heerd  nothing  o'  Zip  ?  "  the  storekeeper  inquired 
presently. 


WILD  BILL  THINKS  HARD  113 

"  No." 

"  'Bout  that  mare  o'  yours  ?  " 

Bill's  face  suddenly  Hushed,  and  his  fierce  brows  drew 
together  in  an  ominous  frown,  but  he  made  no  answer. 
Minky  saw  the  change  and  edged  off. 

"  It's  time  he  was  gettin'  around." 

Bill  nodded. 

"  I  was  kind  of  wonderin',"  Minky  went  on  thought- 
fully, "if  he  don't  turn  up  —  wot's  to  happen  with  them 
kids?" 

"  I  ain't  figgered." 

Bill's  interest  was  apparently  wandering. 

"  He'll  need  to  be  gettin'  around  or  —  somethin's  got  to 
be  done,"  Minky  drifted  on  vaguely. 

"  Sure." 

"  Y'see,  Sunny's  jest  a  hoboe." 

"  Sure." 

"  Don't  guess  Zip's  claim  amounts  to  pea-shucks  neither," 
the  storekeeper  went  on,  his  mind  leaning  towards  the 
financial  side  of  the  matter. 

"  No." 

"  Them  kids   '11  cost  money,  too." 

Bill  nodded,  but  no  one  could  have  detected  any  interest 
in  his  movement. 

"  How'd  it  be  to  get  that  claim  worked  for  him  —  while 
he's  away  ?  " 

Bill  shrugged. 

"  Mebbe  Zip  '11  be  gettin'  back,"  he  said. 

"  An'  if  he  don't." 

"You  mean?" 

There  was  interest  enough  in  Bill  now.  His  interrogation 
was  full  of  suppressed  force. 

"  Yes.     James." 

Bill  sprang  to  his  feet  and  kicked  back  his  chair.  The 
sudden  rage  in  his  eyes  was  startling,  even  to  Minky,  who 


H4       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

was  used  to  the  man.  However,  he  waited,  and  in  a 
moment  or  two  his  friend  was  talking  again  in  his  usually 
cold  tone. 

"  I'll  jest  git  around  an'  see  how  Sunny's  doin',"  he  said. 

Then  he  drew  out  a  pipe  and  began  to  cut  flakes  of 
tobacco  from  a  black  plug. 

"  See  here,  Minky,"  he  went  on,  after  a  moment's  pause. 
"  You  need  to  do  some  thinkin'.  How  much  dust  have  you 
got  in  the  store  ?  " 

"  'Bout  twenty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Whew  !  "  Bill  whistled  softly  as  he  packed  the  tobacco 
in  his  pipe.  "  An  elegant  parcel  for  strangers  to  handle." 

The  storekeeper's  face  became  further  troubled. 

"  It  sure  is  —  if  they  handle  it." 

"Jest  so." 

Bill's  pipe  was  alight  now,  and  he  puffed  at  it  vigorously, 
speaking  between  the  puffs. 

"  Y'see,  this  feller  James  plays  a  big  game.  Cattle  duffin' 
and  ord'n'ry  stage-robbin'  ain't  good  enough,  nor  big  enough, 
to  run  his  gang  on.  He  needs  gold  stages,  and  we  ain't 
sendin'  gold  stages  out.  Wai,  wot's  the  conclusion?  I  ast 
you?" 

"  He'll  hev  to  light  out,  or  — " 

"  Jest  so.  Or  he'll  get  around  here  to  —  look  into  things. 
Those  strangers  last  night  were  mebbe  '  lookin'  into  things.' 
You'll  need  to  stow  that  dust  where  the  rats  can't  gnaw  it. 
Later  we'll  think  things  out.  Meanwhile  there's  one  thing 
sure,  we  don't  need  strangers  on  Suffering  Creek.  There's 
enough  o'  the  boys  around  to  work  the  gold,  an'  when  they 
get  it  they  mostly  know  what  to  do  with  it.  Guess  I'll  get 
on  up  to  Zip's  shack." 

The  two  men  walked  out  into  the  store.  Minky  in  a 
pessimistic  mood  passed  in  behind  his  counter.  This  ques- 
tion of  gold  had  bothered  him  for  some  weeks.  Since  the 
first  stage-robbing,  and  James'  name  had  become  a  "  terror  " 


WILD  BILL  THINKS  HARD  115 

in  the  district,  he  had  opened  a  sort  of  banking  business  for 
the  prospectors.  Commercially  it  appealed  to  him  enor- 
mously. The  profits  under  his  primitive  methods  of  dealing 
with  the  matter  were  dazzlingly  large,  and,  in  consequence, 
the  business  became  a  dominant  portion  of  his  trade.  Nor 
was  it  until  the  quantity  of  gold  he  bought  began  to  grow, 
and  mount  into  thousands  of  dollars'  worth,  that  the  difficul- 
ties of  his  traffic  began  to  force  themselves  upon  him.  Then 
it  was  that  he  realized  that  if  it  was  insecure  to  dispatch  a 
gold  stage  laden  with  the  property  of  the  prospectors,  how 
was  he  to  be  able  to  hold  his  stock  at  the  store  with  any 
greater  degree  of  security. 

The  more  he  thought  of  the  matter  the  greater  the  difficul- 
ties appeared.  Of  course  he  saw  possibilities,  but  none  of 
them  offered  the  security  he  needed.  Then  worry  set  in. 
History  might  easily  repeat  itself  on  Suffering  Creek. 
James'  gang  was  reported  to  be  a  large  one.  Well,  what  if 
he  chose  to  sweep  down  upon  the  camp,  and  clean  the  place 
out.  Herein  lay  the  trouble.  And  in  consequence  his  days 
and  nights  were  none  too  easy. 

He  had  never  spoken  of  the  matter  before.  It  was  not 
a  subject  to  be  discussed  with  anybody.  But  Bill  was 
different  from  the  rest,  and,  for  several  days,  Minky  had 
sought  an  opportunity  of  unburdening  himself  to  his  friend. 
Now,  at  last,  he  had  done  so,  and,  in  return,  had  received 
small  enough  comfort.  Still  he  felt  he  had  done  the  best 
thing. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   FORERUNNER   OF   THE   TRUST 

BILL  passed  straight  through  the  store  and  set  out  across 
the  town  dumps.  And  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
guess  how  far  he  was  affected  by  Minky's  plaint.  His  face 
might  have  been  a  stone  wall  for  all  expression  it  had  of 
what  was  passing  behind  it.  His  cold  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  hut  ahead  of  him  without  apparent  interest  or  meaning. 
His  thoughts  were  his  own  at  all  times. 

As  he  drew  near  he  heard  Sunny's  voice  raised  in  song, 
and  he  listened  intently,  wondering  the  while  if  the  loafer 
had  any  idea  of  its  quality.  It  was  harsh,  nasal  and  pos- 
sessed as  much  tune  as  a  freshly  sharpened  "  buzz-saw." 
But  his  words  were  distinct.  Far  too  distinct  Bill  thought 
with  some  irritation. 

"  A  farmer  ast  the  other  day  if  we  wanted  work. 
Sez  we,  '  Ol'  man,  the  labour  ? '    Sez  he,  '  It's  binding  wheat.' 
Sez  we,  '  Ol'  man,  the  rigger? '  '  A  dollar  an'  a  ha'f  the  sum.' 
Sez  we,  *O1'  man,  go  an*  tickle  yerself,  we'd  a  durned  sight  sooner 
bum!' 

*  Anythin*  at  all,  marm,  we're  nearly  starvin', 

Anything  to  hel-l-lp  the  bummers  on  their  wa-ay, 

We  are  three  bums  an'  jolly  good  chums, 

An'  we  live  like  Royal  Turks, 

An'  with  good  luck  we  bum  our  chuck, 

An'  it's  a  fool  of  a  man  wot  works.' " 

Just  as  Sunny  was  about  to  begin  the  next  verse  Bill 
appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  the  vocalist  was  reduced  to  a 
pained  silence  by  his  harsh  criticism. 


THE  FORERUNNER  OF  THE  TRUST   117 

"  You'd  orter  be  rootin'  kebbeges  on  a  hog  ranch  wi'  that 
voice,"  he  said  icily.  "  You're  sure  the  worst  singer  in 
America." 

Then  he  glanced  round  for  the  children.  They  were 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  Sunny  was  at  the  cookstove  boiling 
milk  in  a  tin  "  billy."  His  face  was  greasy  with  perspira- 
tion, and,  even  to  Bill's  accustomed  eyes,  he  looked  dirtier 
than  ever.  He  stood  now  with  a  spoon  poised,  just  as  he 
had  lifted  it  out  of  the  pot  at  the  moment  of  the  other's 
entrance. 

"  Where's  the  kids  ?  "  the  latter  demanded  sharply. 

Sunny  shifted  his  feet  a  little  uneasily  and  glanced  round 
the  dirty  room.  The  place  looked  as  though  it  hadn't  been 
cleaned  for  a  month.  There  was  a  hideous  accumulation 
of  unwashed  utensils  scattered  everywhere.  The  floor  was 
unswept,  let  alone  unwashed.  And  the  smell  of  stale  food 
and  general  mustiness  helped  to  add  to  the  keenness  of  the 
visitor's  nervous  edge  as  he  waited  for  the  man's  reply. 

"  Guess  they're  out  on  the  dumps  playin'  at  findin'  gold," 
Sunny  said,  with  a  slightly  forced  laugh.  "  Y'see,  little 
Vada's  staked  out  a  claim  on  a  patch  of  elegant  garbage,  an' 
is  digging  fer  worms.  Them's  the  gold.  An'  Jamie's 
playin'  '  bad  man '  an'  swoopin*  down  on  her  and  sneakin' 
her  worms.  It's  a  new  game.  Y'see,  I  thought  it  out  and 
taught  'em  how  to  play  it.  They're  a  heap  struck  on  it, 
too.  I—" 

But  words  somehow  failed  him  under  the  baleful  stare  of 
the  other's  eyes.  And  turning  back  to  the  milk  he  fell  into 
a  stupid  silence. 

"  You'll  get  right  out  an*  huyk  them  kiddies  ofFn  those 
dumps,"  cried  Bill  sharply.  "  You  got  no  more  sense  in 
your  idjot  head  than  to  slep  when  your  eyes  shut.  Diggin' 
worms  on  the  dumps!  Gee!  Say,  if  it  ain't  enough  to 
give  'em  bile  and  measles,  an' —  an'  spots,  then  I  don't  know 
a  '  deuce-spot '  from  a  hay-rake.  Git  right  out,  you  loafin* 


ii8       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

bum,  an'  fetch  'em  in,  an'  then  get  the  muck  off'n  your  face, 
an'  clean  this  doggone  shack  up.  I'd  sure  say  you  was  a 
travelin'  hospital  o'  disease  by  the  look  of  you.  I'm  payin' 
you  a  wage  and  a  heap  good  one,  so  git  out  —  an'  I'll  see  to 
that  darn  milk." 

Argument  was  out  of  the  question,  so  Sunny  adopted  the 
easier  course  of  obedience  to  his  employer's  orders.  He 
dropped  the  spoon  into  the  milk  with  a  suddenness  that 
suggested  resentment,  and  shuffled  out,  muttering.  But  Bill 
followed  him  to  the  door. 

"  How  ?  "  he  inquired  threateningly. 

"  I  didn't  say  nothin',"  lied  Sunny. 

"  I  didn't  jest  guess  you  did,"  retorted  Bill  sarcastically. 
And  he  watched  his  man  hurry  out  into  the  sunlight  with 
eyes  that  had  somehow  become  less  severe. 

He  waited  where  he  was  for  some  moments.  Then  he 
turned  back  into  the  room  and  stared  disgustedly  about  him. 

"  If  a  feller  can't  fix  two  kiddies  right  an'  cook  'em  pap 
without  mussin'  things  till  you  feel  like  dying  o'  colic  at  the 
sight,  he  ain't  fit  to  rob  hogs  of  rootin'  space,"  he  muttered. 
"  I'd  —  Gee-whiz !  Ther's  that  doggone  milk  raising  blue 
murder  wi' — " 

He  rushed  to  the  stove  where  the  boiling  milk  was  pouring 
over  the  sides  of  the  pot  in  a  hissing,  bubbling  stream.  He 
clutched  at  the  "  billy,"  scalding  his  fingers  badly,  jerked  it 
off  the  stove,  upset  the  contents  on  the  floor  and  flung  the 
pot  itself  across  the  room,  where  it  fell  with  a  clatter  upon 
a  pile  of  dirty  tin  plates  and  pannikins.  He  swore  violently 
and  sucked  his  injured  fingers,  while,  in  angry  dismay,  he 
contemplated  the  additional  mess  his  carelessness  had  caused. 
And  at  that  moment  Sunny  returned,  leading  two  grubby- 
faced  infants  by  the  hand. 

"  I  got  'em  back,"  he  cried  cheerfully.  Then  his  shrewd 
eyes  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance,  and  they  sparkled  with 
malicious  glee. 


THE  FORERUNNER  OF  THE  TRUST   119 

"  Gee,"  he  cried,  releasing  the  youngsters  and  pointing  at 
the  mess  on  the  stove  and  floor.  "  Now  ain't  that  a  real 
pity?  Say,  how  d'you  come  to  do  that?  It  sure  ain't  a 
heap  of  trouble  heatin'  a  drop  o'  milk.  Most  any  fule  ken 
do  that.  I  tho't  you  savvied  that,  I  sure  did,  or  I'd  ha'  put 
you  wise.  Y'see,  you  should  jest  let  it  ha'  come  to  the  bile, 
an'  then  whip  it  off  quick.  My,  but  it's  real  foolish !  Ten 
cents  o'  milk  wasted  for  want  of  a  little  sense." 

"  Our  dinner  milk,"  cried  Vada  in  consternation.  "  All 
gone." 

"  All  dorn,"  echoed  Jamie,  flinging  himself  on  the  floor 
and  dipping  his  fingers  into  the  mess  and  licking  them  with 
grave  appreciation. 

In  a  moment  he  was  joined  by  the  inevitable  yellow  pup, 
which  burnt  its  tongue  and  set  up  a  howl.  Vada  ran  to  the 
animal's  assistance,  fell  over  Jamie's  sprawling  legs  and 
rolled  heavily  in  the  mess. 

For  some  seconds  confusion  reigned.  Sunny  darted  to 
Vada's  rescue,  sent  the  pup  flying  with  a  well-directed  kick, 
picked  the  weeping  girl  up,  and  tried  to  shake  some  of  the 
milk  from  her  dirty  clothing.  While  Bill  grabbed  Jamie  out 
of  the  way  of  any  further  mischief.  The  boy  struggled 
furiously  to  free  himself. 

"  Me  want  dinner  milk,"  he  shouted,  and  beat  the 
gambler's  chest  with  both  his  little  fists. 

"  You  kicked  Dougal !  "  wailed  Vada,  from  under  Sunny's 
arm. 

And  at  that  moment  a  mild  voice  reached  them  from  the 
open  doorway  — 

"  Why,  what's  happenin'  ?  " 

Bill  and  Sunny  turned  at  once.  And  the  next  instant  the 
children  were  shrieking  in  quite  a  different  tone. 

"  Pop-pa,"  they  shouted,  with  all  the  power  of  their 
childish  lungs.  The  men  released  them,  and,  with  a  rush, 
they  hurled  themselves  upon  the  small  person  of  their  father. 


120       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Scipio  set  a  bundle  he  was  carrying  upon  the  floor  and 
scrambled  Jamie  into  his  arms  and  kissed  him.  Then  he 
kissed  Vada.  After  that  he  stood  up,  and,  in  a  peculiarly 
dazed  fashion  gazed  about  him,  out  of  a  pair  of  blackened 
and  bloodshot  eyes,  while  the  children  continued  to  cling 
to  him. 

The  two  onlookers  never  took  their  eyes  off  him.  Sunny 
Oak  gazed  with  unfeigned  astonishment  and  alarm,  but  Bill 
merely  stared.  The  little  man  was  a  pitiable  object.  His 
clothes  were  tattered.  His  face  was  bruised  and  cut,  and 
dry  blood  was  smeared  all  round  his  mouth.  Both  eyes 
were  black,  and  in  one  of  them  the  white  was  changed  to  a 
bright  scarlet. 

James*  men  had  done  their  work  all  too  well.  They  had 
handled  their  victim  with  the  brutality  of  the  savages  they 
were. 

Scipio  let  his  eyes  rest  on  Bill,  and,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  as  though  gathering  together  his  still  scattered 
wits,  spoke  his  gratitude. 

"  It  was  real  kind  of  you  lendin*  me  Gipsy.  I  set  her 
back  in  the  barn.  She's  come  to  no  harm.  She  ain't  got 
saddle-sore,  nor  —  nor  nothin'.  Maybe  she's  a  bit  tuckered, 
but  she's  none  the  worse,  sure." 

.  Bill  clicked  his  tongue,  but  made  no  other  response.  At 
that  moment  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  have 
expressed  the  thoughts  passing  through  his  fierce  mind. 
Sunny,  however,  was  more  superficial.  Words  were  burst- 
ing from  his  lips.  And  when  he  spoke  his  first  remark  was 
a  hopeless  inanity. 

"  You  got  back  ?  "  he  questioned. 

Scipio's  poor  face  worked  into  the  ghost  of  a  smile. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  And  the  awkwardness  of  the  meeting 
drove  him  to  silently  caressing  his  children. 

Presently  Sunny,  who  was  not  delicate-minded,  pointed 
at  his  face. 


THE  FORERUNNER  OF  THE  TRUST   121 

"You  — you  had  a  fall?" 

Scipio  shook  his  head. 

"  You  see,  I  found  him  and  —  his  boys  got  rough/'  he 
explained  simply. 

"Gee!" 

There  was  no  mistaking  Sunny's  anger.  He  forgot  his 
usual  lazy  indifference.  For  once  he  was  stirred  to  a  rage 
that  was  as  active  and  volcanic  as  one  of  Wild  Bill's  sudden 
passions. 

But  the  gambler  at  last  found  his  tongue,  and  Sunny  was 
given  no  further  opportunity. 

"  What  you  got  there  ?  "  he  asked,  pointing  at  the  parcel 
Scipio  had  deposited  on  the  floor. 

The  little  man  glanced  down  at  it. 

"That?"  he  said  hazily.  "Oh,  that's  bacon  an'  things. 
I  got  'em  from  Minky  on  my  way  up.  He  told  me  you'd 
sure  got  grub  up  here,  an'  I  didn't  need  to  get  things.  But 
I  guessed  I  couldn't  let  you  do  all  this  now  I'm  back.  Say," 
he  added,  becoming  more  alert.  "  I  want  to  thank  you  both, 
you  bin  real  good  helping  me  out." 

Bill  swallowed  some  tobacco  juice,  and  coughed  violently. 
Sunny  was  eaten  up  with  a  rage  he  could  scarcely  restrain. 
But  Scipio  turned  to  the  children,  who  were  now  clinging 
silently  to  his  moleskin  trousers. 

"  Guess  we'll  get  busy  an'  fix  things  up,"  he  said,  laying 
caressing  hands  upon  them.  "  You'll  need  your  dinners, 
sure.  Poppa's  got  nice  bacon.  How's  that  ?  " 

"  Bully,"  cried  Vada  promptly.  Now  that  she  had  her 
father  again  everything  was  "  bully."  But  Jamie  was 
silently  staring  up  at  the  man's  distorted  features.  He 
didn't  understand. 

Wild  Bill  recovered  from  his  coughing,  suddenly  bestirred 
himself. 

"  Guess  we'd  best  git  goin',  Sunny,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  Zip'll  likely  need  to  fix  things  up  some.  Y'see,  Zip,"  he 


122       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

went  on,  turning  to  the  father,  "  Sunny's  done  his  best  to 
kep  things  goin'  right.  He's  fed  the  kiddies,  which  was  the 
most  ne'ssary  thing.  As  for  keppin'  the  place  clean," —  he 
pointed  at  the  small  sea  of  milk  which  still  stood  in  pools 
on  the  floor  — "  I  don't  guess  he's  much  when  it  comes  to 
cleanin'  anything  —  not  even  hisself.  I  'low  he's  wrecked 
things  some.  Ther's  a  heap  of  milk  wasted.  Howsum  — " 

"  Say!  "  cried  the  outraged  Sunny.  But  Bill  would  allow 
no  interruption. 

"  We'll  git  goin',"  he  said,  with  biting  coldness.  "  Come 
right  along.  So  long,  Zip,"  he  added,  with  an  unusual  touch 
of  gentleness.  "  I'll  be  along  to  see  you  later.  We  need 
to  talk  some." 

He  moved  over  to  Sunny's  side,  and  his  hand  closed  upon 
his  arm.  And  somehow  his  grip  kept  the  loafer  silent  until 
they  passed  out  of  the  hut.  Once  outside  the  gambler  threw 
his  shoulders  back  and  breathed  freely.  But  he  offered  no 
word.  Only  Sunny  was  inclined  to  talk. 

"  Say,  he's  had  a  desprit  bad  time,"  he  said,  with  eyes 
ablaze. 

But  Bill  still  remained  silent.  Nor  did  another  word  pass 
between  them  until  they  reached  Minky's  store. 

The  moment  they  had  departed  Scipio  glanced  forlornly 
round  his  home.  It  was  a  terrible  home-coming.  Three 
days  ago  in  spite  of  all  set-backs  and  shortcomings,  hope  had 
run  high  in  his  heart.  Now  —  He  left  the  twins  standing 
and  walked  to  the  bedroom  door.  He  looked  in.  But  the 
curtains  dropped  from  his  nerveless  fingers  and  he  turned 
back  to  the  living  room,  sick  in  mind  and  heart.  For  one 
moment  his  eyes  stared  unmeaningly  at  the  children.  Then 
he  sat  down  on  the  chair  nearest  the  table  and  beckoned 
them  over  to  him.  They  came,  thrilled  with  awe  in  their 
small  wondering  minds.  Their  father's  distorted  features 
fascinated  yet  horrified  them. 


THE  FORERUNNER  OF  THE  TRUST   123 

Jamie  scrambled  to  one  knee  and  Vada  hugged  one  of 
the  little  man's  arms. 

"  We'll  have  to  have  dinner,  kiddies,"  he  said,  with 
attempted  lightness. 

"  Ess,"  said  Jamie  absently.  Then  he  reached  up  to  the 
wound  on  his  father's  right  cheek,  and  touched  it  gently 
with  one  small  finger.  It  was  so  sore  that  the  man  flinched, 
and  the  child's  hand  was  withdrawn  instantly. 

"  Oose's  hurted,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Pore  poppa's  all  hurt  up,"  added  Vada  tearfully. 

"  Not  hurt  proper,"  said  Scipio,  with  a  wan  smile. 
"  Y'see,  it  was  jest  a  game,  an' —  an'  the  boys  were  rough. 
Now  we'll  git  dinner." 

But  Vada's  mind  was  running  on  with  swift  childish 
curiosity,  and  she  put  a  sudden  question. 

"  When's  momma  comin'  back  ?  "  she  demanded. 

The  man's  eyes  shifted  to  the  open  doorway.  The  golden 
sunlight  beyond  was  shining  with  all  the  splendor  of  a 
summer  noon.  But  for  all  his  blackened  eyes  saw  there 
might  have  been  a  gray  fog  of  winter  outside. 

"  Momma  ?  "  he  echoed  blankly. 

"  Ess,  momma,"  cried  Jamie.     "  When  she  tomin'  ?  " 

Scipio  shook  his  head  and  sighed. 

"  When  she  comin'  ?  "  insisted  Vada. 

The  man  lowered  his  eyes  till  they  focused  themselves 
upon  the  yellow  pup, 'now  hungrily  licking  up  the  cold  milk. 

"  She  won't  come  back,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  low  voice. 
Then  with  a  despairing  gesture,  he  added :  "  Never !  never !  " 
And  his  head  dropped  upon  Jamie's  little  shoulder  while  he 
hugged  Vada  more  closely  to  his  side  as  though  he  feared 
to  lose  her  too. 


CHAPTER  X  . 

THE   TRUST 

IT  was  a  blazing  afternoon  of  the  "  stewing  "  type.  The 
flies  in  the  store  kept  up  a  sickening  hum,  and  tortured 
suffering  humanity  —  in  the  form  of  the  solitary  Minky  — 
with  their  persistent  efforts  to  alight  on  his  perspiring  face 
and  bare  arms.  The  storekeeper,  with  excellent  fore- 
thought, had  showered  sticky  papers,  spread  with  molasses 
and  mucilage,  broadcast  about  the  shelves,  to  ensnare  the  un- 
wary pests.  But  though  hundreds  were  lured  to  their  death 
by  sirupy  drowning,  the  attacking  host  remained  undimin- 
ished,  and  the  death-traps  only  succeeded  in  adding  disgust- 
ing odors  to  the  already  laden  atmosphere.  Fortunately, 
noses  on  Suffering  Creek  were  not  over-sensitive,  and  the 
fly,  with  all  his  native  unpleasantness,  was  a  small  matter  in 
the  scheme  of  the  frontiersman's  life,  and,  like  all  other  ob- 
structions, was  brushed  aside  physically  as  well  as  mentally. 

The  afternoon  quiet  had  set  in.  The  noon  rush  had 
passed,  nor  would  the  re-awakening  of  the  camp  occur  until 
evening.  Ordinarily  the  quiet  of  the  long  afternoon  would 
have  been  pleasant  enough  to  the  hard-working  storekeeper. 
For  surely  there  is  something  approaching  delight  in  the 
leisure  moments  of  a  day's  hard  and  prosperous  work.  But 
just  now  Minky  had  little  ease  of  mind.  And  these  long 
hours,  when  the  camp  was  practically  deserted,  had  become 
a  sort  of  nightmare  to  him.  The  gold-dust  stored  in  the  dim 
recesses  of  his  cellars  haunted  him.  The  outlaw,  James,  was 
a  constant  dread.  For  he  felt  that  his  store  held  a  bait 
which  might  well  be  irresistible  to  that  individual.  Experi- 


THE  TRUST  125 

enced  as  he  was  in  the  ways  of  frontier  life,  the  advent  of 
the  strangers  of  the  night  before  had  started  a  train  of  alarm 
which  threatened  quickly  to  grow  into  panic. 

He  was  pondering  this  matter  when  Sunny  Oak,  accom- 
panied by  the  careless  Toby  Jenks,  lounged  into  the  store. 
With  a  quick,  almost  furtive  eye  the  storekeeper  glanced 
up  to  ascertain  the  identity  of  the  newcomers.  And,  when 
he  recognized  them,  such  was  the  hold  his  alarm  had  upon 
him,  that  his  first  thought  was  as  to  their  fitness  to  help  in 
-case  of  his  own  emergency.  But  his  fleeting  hope  received 
a  prompt  negative.  Sunny  was  useless,  he  decided.  And 
Toby  —  well,  Toby  was  so  far  an  unknown  quantity  in  all 
things  except  his  power  of  spending  on  drink  the  money 
he  had  never  earned. 

"  Ain't  out  on  your  claim  ?  "  he  greeted  the  remittance 
man  casually. 

"  Too  blamed  hot,"  Toby  retorted,  winking  heavily. 

Then  he  mopped  his  face  and  ordered  two  whiskies. 

"  That  stuff  won't  cool  you  down  any,"  observed  Minky, 
passing  behind  his  counter. 

"  No,"  Toby  admitted  doubtfully.  Then  with  a  bright 
look  of  intelligence.  "  But  it'll  buck  a  feller  so  it  don't 
seem  so  bad  —  the  heat,  I  mean."  His  afterthought  set 
Sunny  grinning. 

Minky  set  out  two  glasses  and  passed  the  bottle.  The 
men  helped  themselves,  and  with  a  simultaneous  "  How ! " 
gulped  their  drinks  down  thirstily. 

Minky  re-corked  the  bottle  and  wiped  a  few  drops  of 
water  from  the  counter. 

"  So  Zip's  around,"  he  said,  as  the  glasses  were  returned 
to  the  counter.  And  instantly  Sunny's  face  became  un- 
usually serious. 

"  Say,"  he  cried,  with  a  hard  look  in  his  good-natured 
eyes.  "  D'you  ever  feel  real  mad  about  things  ?  So  mad, 
I  mean,  you  want  to  get  right  out  an'  hurt  somebody  or 


126       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

somethin'?  So  mad,  folks  is  likely  to  git  busy  an*  string 
you  up  with  a  rawhide?  I'm  sure  mostly  dead  easy  as  a 
man,  but  I  feel  that  away  jest  about  now.  I've  sed  to  my- 
self I'd  do  best  settin'  my  head  in  your  wash-trough.  I've 
said  it  more'n  oncet  in  the  last  half -hour.  But  I  don't  guess 
it's  any  sort  o'  use.  So  —  so,  I'll  cut  out  the  wash-trough." 

"  You  most  generally  do,"  said  Toby  pleasantly. 

"  You  ain't  comic  — 'cep'  when  you're  f  eedin',"  retorted 
Sunny,  nettled.  Then  he  turned  to  Minky,  just  as  the 
doorway  of  the  store  was  darkened  by  the  advent  of  Sandy 
Joyce.  But  he  glanced  back  in  the  newcomer's  direction 
and  nodded.  Then  he  went  on  immediately  with  his  talk. 

"Say,  have  you  seen  him?"  he  demanded  of  anybody. 
"  I'm  talkin'  o'  Zip,"  he  added,  for  Sandy's  enlightenment. 
"  He  found  James.  Located  his  ranch,  an' —  an'  nigh  got 
hammered  to  death  for  his  pains.  Gee !  " 

"  We  see  him,"  said  Minky,  after  an  awed  pause.  "  But 
he  never  said  a  word.  He  jest  set  Bill's  mare  back  in  the 
barn,  an'  bo't  bacon,  and  hit  off  to  hum." 

"  I  didn't  see  him,"  Sandy  admitted.     "  How  was  he?  " 

"  Battered  nigh  to  death,  I  said,"  cried  Sunny,  with 
startling  violence.  "  His  eyes  are  blackened,  an'  his  pore 
mean  face  is  cut  about,  an'  bruised  ter'ble.  His  clothes  is 
torn  nigh  to  rags,  an' — " 

"Was  it  the  James  outfit  did  it?"  inquired  Minky 
incredulously. 

"  They  did  that  surely,"  cried  Sunny  vehemently.  "  You 
ain't  seen  Bill,  have  you?  He's  that  mad  you  can't  git  a 
word  out  o'  him.  I  tell  you  right  here  somethin's  goin'  to 
happen.  Somethin's  got  to  happen,"  he  added,  with  a  fresh 
burst  of  rage.  "  That  gang  needs  cleanin'  out.  They  need 
shootin'  up  like  vermin,  an' — " 

"  You're  goin'  to  do  it  ?  "  inquired  Sandy  sarcastically. 

Sunny  turned  on  him  in  a  flash. 

"I'll  take  my  share  in  it,"  he  cried,  "an'  it'll  need  to 


THE  TRUST  127 

be  a  big  share  to  satisfy  me/'  he  added,  with  such  evident 
sincerity  and  fiery  determination  that  his  companions  stared 
at  him  in  wonder. 

"  Guess  Sunny's  had  his  rest  broke,"  observed  Toby,  with 
a  grin. 

"  I  have  that  sure.  An' —  an'  it  makes  me  mad  to  git 
busy,"  the  loafer  declared.  "  Have  you  seen  that  pore  feller 
with  his  face  all  mussed  ?  Gee !  Say,  Zip  wouldn't  hurt  a 
louse;  he's  that  gentle-natured  I'd  say  if  ther'  was  only  a 
baulky  mule  between  him  an'  starvation  he'd  hate  to  live. 
He  ain't  nd  more  savvee  than  a  fool  cat  motherin'  a  china 
dog,  but  he's  got  the  grit  o'  ten  men.  He's  hunted  out 
James  with  no  more  thought  than  he'd  use  firm'  a  cracker 
on  the  4th  o'  July.  He  goes  after  him  to  claim  his  right, 
as  calm  an'  foolish  as  a  sheep  in  a  butcherin'  yard.  An' 
I'd  say  right  here  ther'  ain't  one  of  us  in  this  store  would 
have  had  the  grit  chasin'  for  his  wife  wher'  Zip's  bin 
chasm'— " 

"  Not  for  a  wife,  sure,"  interjected  Sandy. 

Toby  smothered  a  laugh,  but  became  serious  under 
Sunny's  contemptuous  eye. 

"  That's  like  you,  Sandy,"  he  cried.  "  It's  sure  like  you. 
But  I  tell  you  Zip's  a  man,  an'  a  great  big  man  to  the  marrer 
of  his  small  backbone.  His  luck's  rotten.  Rotten  every 
ways.  He's  stuck  on  his  wife,  an'  she's  gone  off  with  a 
tough  like  James.  He  works  so  he  comes  nigh  shamin'  even 
me,  who  hates  work,  on  a  claim  that  couldn't  show  the 
color  o'  gold  on  it,  if  ther'  wa'an't  nothin'  to  the  earth  but 
gold.  He's  jest  got  two  notions  in  his  silly  head.  It's  his 
kids  an'  his  wife.  Mackinaw !  It  makes  me  sick.  It  does 
sure.  Here's  us  fellers  without  a  care  to  our  souls,  while 
that  pore  sucker's  jest  strugglin'  an'  strugglin'  an'  every thin's 
wrong  with  him  —  wrong  as  —  oh,  hell !  " 

For  once  Sandy  forgot  his  malicious  jibe  at  the  loafer's 
expense.  And  Toby,  too,  forgot  his  pleasantry.  Sunny's 


128       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

outburst  of  feeling  had  struck  home,  and  each  man  stood 
staring  thoughtfully  at  the  mental  picture  he  had  conjured 
for  them.  Each  admitted  to  himself  in  his  own  way  the 
pity  the  other's  words  had  stirred,  but  none  of  them  had 
anything  to  add  at  the  moment. 

Sunny  glanced  from  one  to  the  other.  His  look  was  half 
questioning  and  wholly  angry.  He  glanced  across  at  the 
window  and  thrust  his  hands  in  his  ragged  trousers  pockets. 

And  presently  as  he  began  to  tap  the  floor  with  his  foot 
a  fresh  rush  of  fiery  anger  was  mounting  to  his  head.  He 
opened  his  lips  as  though  about  to  continue  his  tirade,  but 
apparently  changed  his  mind.  And,  instead,  he  drew  a 
dollar  bill  from  his  pocket,  and  flung  it  on  the  counter. 

"  Three  more  drinks,"  he  demanded  roughly. 

Minky  in  unfeigned  surprise  produced  the  glasses. 
Sandy  leant  over,  and,  with  face  thrust  forward,  inspected 
the  bill.  Toby  contented  himself  with  a  low  whistle  of 
astonishment. 

Sunny  glared  at  them  contemptuously. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  roughly,  "  I've  earned  it.  I've  worked  for 
it,  do  you  understand?  Wild  Bill  set  me  to  look  after 
Zip's  kids,  an'  he's  paid  me  for  it.  But  —  but  that  money 
burns  —  burns  like  hell,  an'  I  want  to  be  quit  of  it.  Oh,  I 
ain't  bug  on  no  sort  o'  charity  racket,  I'm  jest  about  as  soft 
as  my  back  teeth.  But  I'm  mad  —  mad  to  git  busy  doin' 
anythin'  so  we  ken  git  Zip  level  with  that  low-down  skunk, 
James.  An'  if  ther's  fT  cents'  worth  o'  grit  in  you,  Mister 
Sandy  Joyce,  an'  an  atom  o'  savvee  in  your  fool  brain,  Toby, 
you'll  take  a  hand  in  the  game." 

Minky  looked  on  in  silent  approval.  Anything  directed 
against  James  was  bound  to  meet  with  his  approval  just 
now.  But  Sandy  cleared  his  throat,  and  lounged  with  his 
back  against  the  counter. 

"An'  wot,  I'd  ast,  is  goin'  to  hurt  this  tough?"  he  in- 
quired^  with  a  dash  of  his  usual  sarcasm. 


THE  TRUST  129 

Sunny  flew  at  his  drink  and  gulped  it  down. 

"  How  do  I  know?  "  he  cried  scornfully. 

"  Jest  so." 

Toby  grinned. 

"  You're  a  bright  one,  Sunny.  You're  so  bright,  you 
dazzle  my  eyes,"  he  cried. 

But  Sunny  was  absorbed  in  a  thought  that  was  hazily 
hovering  in  the  back  of  his  brain,  and  let  the  insult  pass. 

"  How  ken  I  tell  jest  wot  we're  goin'  to  do,"  he  cried. 
"  Wot  we  want  to  do  is  to  kind  o'  help  that  pore  crittur  Zip 
out  first.  Ther'  he  is  wi'  two  kids  to  see  to,  which  is  sure 
more  than  one  man's  work,  an*  at  the  same  time  he's  got 
to  dig  up  that  mudbank  claim  of  his.  He  don't  see  the 
thing's  impossible,  'cos  he's  that  big  in  mind  he  can't  see 
small  things  like  that.  But  I  ain't  big  that  aways,  an'  I  ken 
see.  If  he  goes  on  diggin'  wot's  his  kids  goin'  to  do,  an*  if 
he  don't  dig  wot's  they  goin'  to  do  anyways.  We'll  hev  to 
form  a  committee  — " 

"  Sort  o'  trust,"  grinned  Toby. 

But  Sunny  passed  over  his  levity  and  seized  upon  his 
suggestion. 

"  I  'lows  your  fool  head's  tho't  somethin'  wiser  than  it 
guessed,"  he  said.  "  That's  just  wot  we  need.  Ther' 
should  be  a  trust  to  see  after  him.  An'  after  it's  got  his 
kids  fixed  right  — " 

Sunny  broke  off  as  the  tall  figure  of  Wild  Bill  threw  its 
shadow  across  the  window  of  the  store.  The  next  moment 
the  man  himself  entered  the  room. 

He  nodded  silently,  and  was  about  to  fling  himself  into 
one  of  the  chairs,  when  Toby,  in  jocular  anticipation,  threw 
Sunny's  proposition  at  him. 

"  Say,  Sunny's  woke  up  an'  bin  thinkin',"  he  cried.  "  I 
allow  his  brain  is  shockin'  wonderful.  Guess  he's  got  sick 
o'  restin'  an'  reckons  he  got  a  notion  for  makin'  a  trust  lay- 
out." 


I3o       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  The  Zip  Trust,"  added  Sandy,  with  a  laugh,  in  which 
Toby  joined  heartily. 

"  Yes.  He  guesses  Zip  needs  lookin'  after,"  declared  the 
remittance  man  in  the  midst  of  his  mirth,  glancing  round 
for  appreciation  of  the  joke. 

But  the  encouragement  he  received  fell  short  of  his  expec- 
tations, and  his  laugh  died  out  quite  abruptly.  There  was 
no  responsive  smile  on  Minky's  face.  Sunny  was  glowering 
sulkily;  while  Bill's  fierce  brows  were  drawn  together  in 
an  angry  frown,  and  his  gimlet  eyes  seemed  to  bore  their 
way  into  the  speaker's  face. 

"  Wai?  "  he  demanded  coldly. 

"  Wai,  I  think  he's  — " 

But  Bill  cut  him  short  in  his  coldest  manner. 

"Do  you?"  he  observed  icily.  "Wai,  I'd  say  you  best 
think  ag'in.  An'  when  you  done  thinkin'  jest  start  right 
over  ag'in.  An'  mebbe  some  day  you'll  get  wise  —  if  you 
don't  get  took  meanwhiles." 

Bill  flung  himself  into  the  chair  and  crossed  his  long 
legs. 

"  Sunny's  on  the  right  lay,"  he  went  on.  "  Ther'  ain't 
many  men  on  Sufferin'  Creek,  but  Zip's  one  of  'em.  Say, 
Toby,  would  you  ride  out  to  James'  outfit  to  call  him  all 
you  think  of  the  feller  whose  stole  your  wife?  " 

"  Not  by  a  sight,"  replied  Toby  seriously. 

"  Wai,  Zip  did.  He's  big,"  went  on  Bill  in  cold,  harsh 
tones.  Then  he  paused  in  thought.  But  he  went  on  almost 
immediately.  "  We  got  to  help  him.  I'm  sure  with 
Sunny."  He  turned  on  the  loafer  with  a  wintry  smile. 
"  You  best  organize  right  away,  an' —  count  me  in." 

Sunny's  eyes  glowed  with  triumph.  He  had  feared  the 
man's  ridicule.  He  had  expected  to  see  his  lean  shoulders 
go  up  in  silent  contempt.  And  then,  he  knew,  would  have 
followed  a  storm  of  sarcasm  and  "  jollying  "  from  Sandy 
and  the  other.  With  quick  wit  he  seized  his  opportunity, 


THE  TRUST  131 

bent  on  using  Bill's  influence  to  its  utmost.  He  turned  on 
Minky  with  a  well  calculated  abruptness. 

"You'll  help  this  thing  out  — too?"  he  challenged 
him. 

And  he  got  his  answer  on  the  instant  — 

"  I  sure  will  —  to  any  extent." 

Sandy  and  Toby  looked  at  the  storekeeper  in  some  doubt. 
Bill  was  watching  them  with  a  curious  intentness.  And 
before  Sunny  could  challenge  the  two  scoffers,  his  harsh 
voice  filled  the  room  again. 

"  I  don't  know  we'll  need  any  more,"  he  said,  abruptly 
turning  his  gaze  upon  the  open  window,  "  otherwise  we'd 
likely  hev  ast  you  two  fellers.  Y'see,  we'll  ned  folks  as  ken 
do  things  — " 

"  Wot  sort  o'  things  ?  "  demanded  Sandy,  with  a  sudden 
interest. 

"  Wai,  that  ain't  easy  to  say  right  now,  but  — " 

"  I  ain't  much  seein'  to  kids,"  cried  Sandy,  "  but  I  ken  do 
most  anythin'  else." 

A  flicker  of  a  smile  crept  into  Bill's  averted  eyes,  while 
Sunny  grinned  broadly  to  see  the  way  the  man  was  now 
literally  falling  over  himself  to  follow  the  leadership  of  WTild 
Bill. 

"  Wai,  it  ain't  no  use  in  saying  things  yet,  but  if  you're 
dead  set  on  joining  this  Zip  Trust,  I  guess  you  can.  But 
get  this,  what  you're  called  upon  to  do  you'll  need  to  do 
good  an*  hard,  an* —  without  argument." 

Sandy  nodded. 

"  I'm  in,"  he  cried,  as  though  a  great  privilege  had  been 
bestowed  upon  him. 

And  at  once  Toby  became  anxious. 

"  Guess  you  ain't  no  use  for  me,  Bill  ? "  he  hazarded, 
almost  diffidently. 

Bill  turned  his  steely  eyes  on  him  in  cold  contemplation. 
Minky  had  joined  in  Sunny's  grin  at  the  other  men's  ex- 


132       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

pense.  Sandy,  too,  now  that  he  was  accepted  as  an  active 
member  of  the  trust,  was  indulging  in  a  superior  smile. 

"  I  don't  allow  I  have,"  Bill  said  slowly.  "  Y'see,  you 
ain't  much  else  than  a  '  remittance '  man,  an'  they  ain't  no 
sort  o'  trash  anyway." 

"  But,"  protested  Toby,  "  I  can't  help  it  if  my  folks  hand 
me  money  ? " 

"  Mebbe  you  can't."  Bill  was  actually  smiling.  And  this 
fact  so  far  influenced  the  other  members  of  the  trust  that 
an  audible  titter  went  round  the  room.  Then  the  gambler 
suddenly  sat  forward,  and  the  old  fierce  gleam  shone  once 
more  in  his  cold  eyes.  "  Say,"  he  cried  suddenly.  "  If  a 
feller  got  the  '  drop '  on  you  with  six  bar'ls  of  a  gun  well 
loaded,  an' —  guessed  you'd  best  squeal,  wot  'ud  you  do?  " 

"  Squeal,"  responded  the  puzzled  Toby,  with  alacrity. 

"  You  ken  join  the  Trust.  You  sure  got  more  savvee 
than  I  tho't." 

Bill  sat  back  grinning,  while  a  roar  of  laughter  concluded 
the  founding  of  the  Zip  Trust. 

But  like  all  ceremonials,  the  matter  had  to  be  prolonged 
and  surrounded  with  the  frills  of  officialdom.  Sunny  called 
it  organization,  and  herein  only  copied  people  of  greater 
degree  and  self-importance.  He  plunged  into  his  task  with 
whole-hearted  enthusiasm,  and,  with  every  word  he  uttered, 
preened  himself  in  the  belief  that  he  was  rapidly  ascending 
in  the  opinion  of  Wild  Bill,  the  only  man  on  Suffering  Creek 
for  whose  opinion  he  cared  a  jot. 

He  explained  to  his  comrades,  with  all  the  vanity  of  a 
man  whose  inspiration  has  met  with  public  approval,  that 
in  forming  such  a  combine  as  theirs,  it  would  be  necessary 
to  allot  certain  work,  which  he  called  "  departments," 
to  certain  individuals.  He  assured  his  fellow-members 
that  such  was  always  done  in  "  way-up  concerns."  It  saved 
confusion,  and  ensured  the  work  being  adequately  per- 
formed. 


THE  TRUST  133 

"  Sort  o'  like  a  noo  elected  gover'ment,"  suggested  Sandy 
sapiently. 

"Wai,  I  won't  say  that,"  said  Sunny.  "Them  fellers 
traipse  around  wi'  portyfolios  hangin'  to  'em.  I  don't  guess 
we  need  them  things.  It's  too  hot  doin'  stunts  like  that." 

"  Portfolios  ?  "  questioned  Toby  artlessly.  "  Wot's  them 
for?" 

"  Oh,  jest  nuthin'  o'  consequence.  Guess  it's  to  make 
folks  guess  they're  doin'  a  heap  o'  work.  No,  what  we  need 
is  to  set  each  man  his  work  this  aways.  Now  Bill  here 
needs  to  be  president  sure.  Y'see,  we  must  hev  a  '  pres.' 
Most  everything  needs  a  '  pres.'  He's  got  to  sit  on  top,  so 
if  any  one  o'  the  members  gits  gay  he  ken  hand  'em  a  daisy 
wot'll  send  'em  squealin'  an'  huntin'  their  holes  like  gophers. 
Wai,  Bill  needs  to  be  our  '  pres.'  Then  there's  the  '  general 
manager.'  He's  the  feller  wot  sets  around  an'  blames  most 
everybody  fer  everything  anyway,  an'  writes  to  the  noos- 
papers.  He's  got  to  have  savvee,  an'  an  elegant  way  o' 
shiftin'  the  responsibility  o'  things  on  them  as  can't  git 
back  at  him.  He's  got  to  be  a  bright  lad  — " 

"  That's  Sunny,  sure,"  exclaimed  Toby.  "  He's  a  dandy 
at  gettin'  out  o'  things  an'  leaving  others  in.  Say  — " 

"  Here,  half-a-tick,"  cried  Joyce,  with  sudden  inspiration. 
"  Who's  goin'  to  be  '  fightin'  editor  '  ?  " 

"  Gee,  what  a  brain !  "  cried  Sunny  derisively.  "  Say,  we 
ain't  runnin'  a  mornin'  noos  sheet.  This  is  a  trust.  Sandy, 
my  boy,  you  need  educatin'.  A  trust's  a  corporation  of 
folks  wot  is  so  crooked,  they  got  to  git  together,  an'  pool 
their  cash,  so's  to  git  enough  dollars  to  kep  'em  out  o'  peni- 
tentiary. That's  how  they  start.  Later  on,  if  they  kep 
clear  o'  the  penitentiary,  they  start  in  to  fake  the  market  till 
the  Gover'ment  butts  in.  Then  they  git  gay,  buy  up  a  vote 
in  Congress,  an'  fake  the  laws  so  they're  fixed  right  fer 
themselves.  After  that  some  of  them  git  religion,  some  of 
'em  give  trick  feeds  to  their  friends,  some  of  'em  start  in  to 


134       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

hang  jewels  on  stage  females.  Some  of  'em  have  heen 
known  to  shoot  theirselves  or  git  divorced.  It  ain't  no  sort 
o'  matter  wot  they  do,  pervided  they're  civil  to  the  noospaper 
folk.  That's  a  trust,  Sandy,  an'  I  don't  say  but  what  the  fel- 
ler as  tho't  o'  that  name  must  o'  bin  a  tarnation  amusin' 
feller." 

"  Say,  you  orter  bin  in  a  cirkis,"  sneered  Sandy,  as  the 
loafer  finished  his  disquisition. 

"  Wai,  I'd  say  that's  better'n  a  museum/'  retorted  Sunny. 

But  Toby  was  impatient  to  hear  how  Sunny  intended  to 
dispose  of  him. 

"  Wher'  do  I  figger  in  this  lay-out  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  You  ?  "  Sunny's  eyes  twinkled.  "  Don't  guess  we'll 
need  to  give  you  hard  work.  You  best  be  boss  o'  the 
workin'  staff." 

"  But  ther'  ain't  no  workin'  staff,"  protested  Toby. 

"  Jest  so.  That's  why  you'll  be  boss  of  it."  Then  Sunny 
turned  to  Sandy. 

"  We'll  need  your  experience  as  a  married  man,  tho',"  he 
said  slyly.  "  So  you  best  be  head  o'  the  advisory  board. 
You'll  need  to  kep  us  wise  to  the  general  principles  of  vittlin' 
a  family  of  three,  when  the  woman's  missin'.  Then  we'll 
need  a  treasurer."  Sunny  turned  to  Minky,  and  his  twin- 
kling eyes  asked  the  question. 

"  Sure,"  said  Minky  promptly,  "  I'll  be  treasurer.  Seems 
to  me  I'll  be  safer  that  ways." 

"  Good,"  cried  Sunny,  "  that's  all  fixed."  He  turned  to 
Bill.  "  Say,  pres,"  he  went  on,  "  I'd  like  to  pass  a  vote  o' 
thanks  fer  the  way  you  conducted  this  yer  meetm,  an'  put 
it  to  the  vote,  that  we  accept  the  treasurer's  invitation  to 
take  wine.  All  in  favor  will  — " 

"  Mine's  rye,"  cried  Sandy  promptly. 

"  An*  mine,"  added  Toby. 

"  Rye  for  me,"  nodded  Sunny  at  Minky's  grinning  face. 
"Bill—?" 


THE  TRUST  135 

But  Bill  shook  his  head. 

"  Too  early  for  me,"  he  said,  "  you  fellers  can  git  all  you 
need  into  you  though.  But  see  here,  folks,"  he  went  on, 
with  a  quietness  of  purpose  that  promptly  reduced  every  eye 
to  seriousness.  "  This  ain't  no  play  game  as  Sunny  may  ha' 
made  you  think.  It's  a  proposition  that  needs  to  go  thro', 
an' —  I'm  goin'  to  see  it  thro'.  Zip's  kids  is  our  first  trouble. 
They  ain't  easy  handlin'.  They  got  to  be  bro't  up  reg'lar, 
an'  their  stummicks  ain't  to  be  pizened  with  no  wrong  sort 
o'  vittles.  Ther's  such  a  heap  o'  things  to  kids  o'  that  age 
it  makes  me  nigh  sweat  at  the  tho't.  Howsum,  Zip's  down 
an'  out,  an'  we  got  to  see  him  right  someways.  As  '  pres  ' 
of  this  lay-out,  I  tell  you  right  here,  every  mother's  son  of 
us  had  best  git  out  an'  learn  all  we  ken  about  fixin'  kids 
right.  How  to  feed  'em,  how  to  set  their  pretties  on  right, 
how  to  clean  'em,  how  to  —  well,  jest  how  to  raise  'em.  If 
any  o'  you  got  leddy  friends  I'd  say  git  busy  askin'  'em. 

<srk        " 

Ov  """" 

At  that  moment  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  veranda 
came  in  through  the  window,  and  Bill  looked  round.  The 
next  instant  he  spoke  more  rapidly,  and  with  greater 
authority. 

"  Git  goin',"  he  cried,  "  an'  we'll  meet  after  supper." 
There  was  no  doubt  of  this  man's  rule.     Without  a  word 
the  men  filed  out  of  the  store,  each  one  with  his  thoughts 
bent   upon   the   possibilities   of   acquiring   the   knowledge 
necessary. 


CHAPTER  XI 

STRANGERS   IN   SUFFERING  CREEK 

BILL  watched  the  men  depart.  The  stolid  Minky,  too, 
followed  them  with  his  eyes.  But  as  they  disappeared 
through  the  doorway  he  turned  to  the  gambler,  and,  in  sur- 
prise, discovered  that  he  was  reclining  in  a  chair,  stretched 
out  in  an  attitude  of  repose,  with  his  shrewd  eyes  tightly 
closed.  He  was  about  to  speak  when  the  swing-doors 
opened,  and  two  strangers  strolled  in. 

Minky  greeted  them,  "  Howdy  ?  "  and  received  an  amiable 
response.  The  newcomers  were  ordinary  enough  to  satisfy 
even  the  suspicious  storekeeper.  In  fact,  they  looked  like 
men  from  some  city,  who  had  possibly  come  to  Suffering 
Creek  with  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the  possibilities  of 
the  camp  as  a  place  in  which  to  try  their  fortunes.  Both 
were  clad  in  store  clothes  of  fair  quality,  wearing  hats  of  the 
black  prairie  type,  and  only  the  extreme  tanning  of  their 
somewhat  genial  faces  belied  the  city  theory. 

Minky  noted  all  these  things  while  he  served  them  the 
drinks  they  called  for,  and,  in  the  most  approvedly  casual 
manner,  put  the  usual  question  to  them. 

"  Wher'  you  from  ?  "  he  inquired,  as  though  the  matter 
were  not  of  the  least  consequence. 

He  was  told  Spawn  City  without  hesitation,  and  in  re- 
sponse to  his  remark  that  they  had  "  come  quite  a  piece," 
they  equally  amiably  assured  him  that  they  had. 

Then  one  of  the  men  addressed  his  companion. 

"  Say,  Joe,"  he  said,  "  mebbe  this  guy  ken  put  us  wise  to 
things." 


STRANGERS  IN  SUFFERING  CREEK        137 

And  Joe  nodded  and  turned  to  the  storekeeper. 

"  Say,  boss,"  he  began,  "  we've  heerd  tell  this  lay-out  is  a 
dead  gut  bonanza.  There's  folks  in  Spawn  City  says  ther's 
gold  enough  here  to  drown  the  United  States  Treasury  de- 
partment. Guess  we  come  along  to  gather  some."  He 
grinned  in  an  ingratiating  manner. 

Minky  thought  before  answering. 

"  Ther'  sure  is  a  heap  o'  gold  around.  But  it  ain't  easy. 
I  don't  guess  you'd  gather  much  in  a  shovel.  You'll  get 
pay  dirt  that  aways,  but  — " 

"  Ah !     Needs  cap'tal,"  suggested  Joe. 

"  That's  jest  how  we  figgered,"  put  in  the  other  quietly. 

Minky  nodded.  Many  things  were  traveling  swiftly 
through  his  mind. 

"  Drove  in  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Sure,"  replied  Joe.     "  Unhooked  down  the  trail  a  piece." 

Bill's  eyes  opened  and  closed  again.  Then  he  shifted 
noisily  in  his  chair.  The  men  turned  round  and  eyed  him 
with  interest.  Then  the  man  called  Joe  called  back  to  the 
storekeeper. 

"  My  name's  Joe  Manton,"  he  said,  by  way  of  introduc- 
tion. "  An'  my  friend's  called  Sim  Longley.  Say,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  backward  jerk  of  the  head,  "  mebbe  your 
friend  '11  take  something?  " 

Minky  glanced  over  at  Wild  Bill.  The  gambler  drowsily 
opened  his  eyes  and  bestirred  himself. 

"  I  sure  will,"  he  said,  rearing  his  great  length  up,  and 
moving  across  to  the  counter.  "  I'll  take  Rye,  mister,  an' 
thank  you.  This  is  Mr.  Minky,  gents.  My  name's  Bill." 

The  introduction  acknowledged,  talk  flowed  freely.  Wild 
Bill,  in  carefully  toned  down  manner,  engaged  the  strangers 
in  polite  talk,  answering  their  questions  about  the  gold  pros- 
pects of  the  place,  which  were  often  pointed,  in  the  most 
genial  and  even  loquacious  manner.  He  told  them  a  great 
deal  of  the  history  of  the  place,  warned  them  that  Suffering 


I38       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Creek  was  not  the  sinecure  the  outside  world  had  been  told, 
endorsed  Minky's  story  that  what  Suffering  Creek  really 
needed  was  capital  to  reach  the  true  wealth  of  the  place. 
And,  in  the  course  of  the  talk,  drink  flowed  freely. 

Bill  was  always  supplied  with  his  drink  from  a  different 
bottle  to  that  out  of  which  the  strangers  were  served.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  probably  the  most  temperate  man 
on  Suffering  Creek,  and,  by  an  arrangement  with  Minky,  so 
as  not  to  spoil  trade,  drank  from  a  bottle  of  colored  water 
when  the  necessity  for  refreshment  arose.  But  just  now 
his  manner  suggested  that  he  had  drunk  quite  as  much 
whisky  as  the  strangers.  His  spirits  rose  with  theirs,  and 
his  jocularity  and  levity  matched  theirs,  step  by  step,  as  they 
went  on  talking. 

The  man  Longley  had  spoken  of  the  settlement  as  being 
"  one-horsed/'  and  Billy  promptly  agreed. 

"  It  sure  is,"  he  cried.  "  We  ain't  got  nothing  but  this 
yer  canteen,  with  oF  Minky  doin'  his  best  to  pizen  us.  Still, 
we  get  along  in  a  ways.  Mebbe  we  could  do  wi'  a  dancin'- 
hall  —  if  we  had  females  around.  Then  I'd  say  a  bank 
would  be  an  elegant  addition  to  things.  Y'see,  we  hev  to 
ship  our  gold  outside.  Leastways,  that's  wot  we  used  to  do, 
I've  heard.  Y'see,  I  ain't  in  the  minin'  business,"  he 
added,  by  way  of  accounting  for  his  lack  of  personal 
knowledge. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Joe.     "  Maybe  you're  '  commercial '  ?  " 

Bill  laughed  so  genially  that  the  others  joined  in  it. 

"In  a  ways,  mebbe  I  am.  You  see,  I  mostly  sit  around, 
an'  when  anything  promisin'  comes  along,  why,  I  ain't  above 
plankin'  a  few  dollars  by  way  of  —  speculation." 

Joe  grinned  broadly. 

"  A  few  shares  in  a  poker  hand,  eh  ? "  he  suggested 
shrewdly. 

"  You're  kind  o'  quick,  mister,"  Bill  laughed.  "  I'm  stuck 
on  f  draw  '  some." 


STRANGERS  IN  SUFFERING  CREEK        139 

Then  the  talk  drifted  suddenly.  It  was  Longley  who 
presently  harked  back  to  the  commercial  side  of  Suffering 
Creek. 

"  You  was  sayin'  ther'  wasn't  no  bank  on  Suffering 
Creek/'  he  said  interestedly.  "  What  do  folks  do  with  their 
dust  now,  then?  " 

A  quick  but  almost  imperceptible  glance  passed  between 
Bill  and  the  storekeeper.  And  Bill's  answer  came  at  once. 

"  Wai,  as  I  sed,  we  used  to  pass  it  out  by  stage.     But  — " 

Longley  caught  him  up  just  a  shade  too  quickly. 

«  Yes  —  but  ?  " 

"Wai,"  drawled  Bill  thoughtfully,  "  y'see,  we  ain't 
shipped  dust  out  for  some  time  on  account  of  a  gang  that's 
settin'  around  waitin'.  You  comin'  from  Spawn  City  '11 
likely  have  heard  of  this  feller  James  an'  his  gang.  A  most 
ter'ble  tough  is  James.  I'll  allow  he's  got  us  mighty  nigh 
wher'  he  wants  us  —  scairt  to  death.  No,  we  ain't  sent  out 
no  gold  stage  lately,  but  we're  goin'  to  right  soon.  We'll 
hev  to.  We've  ast  for  an  escort  o'  Gover'ment  troops,  but 
I  guess  Sufferin'  Creek  ain't  on  the  map.  The  Gover'ment 
don't  guess  they've  any  call  to  worry." 

"  Then  what  you  goin'  to  do  ?  "  inquired  Longley,  pro- 
foundly interested. 

"  Can't  say.     The  stage'll  hev  to  take  its  chances." 

"  An'  when  — "  began  Longley.  But  his  comrade  cut  him 
short. 

"  Say,  I'll  allow  the  gold  racket's  mighty  int'restin',  but 
it  makes  me  tired  this  weather.  You  was  speakin' 
« draw  '— " 

"  Sure,"  responded  Bill  amiably.  "  We're  four  here,  if 
you  fancy  a  hand.  Minky  ?  " 

The  storekeeper  nodded,  and  promptly  produced  cards  and 
'  chips.'  And  in  five  minutes  the  game  was  in  progress. 
Used  as  he  was  to  the  vagaries  of  his  gambling  friend, 
Minky  was  puzzled  at  the  way  he  was  discussing  Suffering 


140       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Creek  with  these  strangers.  His  talk  about  James  and  the 
gold-stage  was  too  rankly  absurd  for  anything,  and  yet  he 
knew  that  some  subtle  purpose  must  be  underlying  his  talk. 
However,  it  was  no  time  to  question  or  contradict  now,  so 
he  accepted  the  situation  and  his  share  in  the  game. 

And  here  again  astonishment  awaited  him.  Bill  lost 
steadily,  if  not  heavily.  He  watched  the  men  closely,  but 
could  discover  none  of  the  known  tricks  common  to  the 
game  when  sharps  are  at  work.  They  not  only  seemed  to 
be  playing  straight,  but  badly.  They  were  not  good  poker 
players.  Yet  they  got  the  hands  and  won.  For  himself,  he 
kept  fairly  level.  It  was  only  Bill  who  lost. 

And  all  through  the  game  the  gambler  allowed  himself 
to  be  drawn  into  talking  of  Suffering  Creek  by  the  interested 
Longley,  until  it  would  have  been  obvious  to  the  veriest 
greenhorn  that  the  stranger  was  pumping  him. 

The  newcomers  seemed  to  be  enjoying  themselves  enor- 
mously, and  the  greatest  good-will  prevailed.  Nor  was  it 
until  nearly  supper-time  that  Bill  suddenly  stood  up  and 
declared  he  had  had  enough.  He  was  a  loser  to  the  extent 
of  nearly  a  hundred  dollars. 

So  the  party  broke  up.  And  at  Minky's  suggestion  the 
men  departed  to  put  their  horses  in  the  barn,  while  they 
partook  of  supper  under  his  roof.  It  was  the  moment  they 
had  gone  that  the  storekeeper  turned  on  his  friend. 

"  Say,  I  ain't  got  you,  Bill.  Wot's  your  game  ?  "  he  de- 
manded, with  some  asperity. 

But  the  gambler  was  quite  undisturbed  by  his  annoyance. 
He  only  chuckled. 

"  Say,"  he  countered,  "  ever  heerd  tell  of  Swanny  Long, 
the  biggest  tough  in  Idaho?  " 

"Sure.     But—" 

"  That's  him  —  that  feller  Sim  Longley." 

The  storekeeper  stared. 

"You  sure?"      • 


STRANGERS  IN  SUFFERING  CREEK        141 

"  Sure  ?  Gee !  I  was  after  him  f er  nigh  three  —  Say," 
he  broke  off  —  it  was  not  his  way  to  indulge  in  reminiscence 
— "  I  guess  he's  workin'  with  James."  Then  he  laughed. 
"  Gee !  I  allow  he  was  rigged  elegant  —  most  like  some  Bible- 
smashin'  sky-pilot." 

Minky  was  still  laboring  hard  to  understand. 

"  But  all  that  yarn  of  the  gold-stage  ?  "  he  said  sharply. 

"That?"  Bill  at  once  became  serious.  "Wai,  that's 
pretty  near  right.  You  ain't  yearnin'  fer  that  gang  to  come 
snoopin'  around  Suffering  Creek.  So  I'm  guessin'  we'll  hev 
to  pass  a  gold-stage  out  o'  her  some  time." 

"  You're  mad,"  cried  Minky  in  consternation. 

"That's  as  may  be,"  retorted  Bill,  quite  unruffled. 
"  Anyways,  I  guess  I  spent  a  hundred  dollars  in  a  mighty 
good  deal  this  day  —  if  it  was  rotten  bad  poker." 

And  he  turned  away  to  talk  to  Slade  of  Kentucky,  who 
entered  the  store  at  that  moment  with  his  friend  O'Brien. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  WOMAN 

THE  woman  turned  from  the  window  at  the  sound  of 
footsteps  somewhere  behind  her.  That  was  her  way  now. 
She  started  at  each  fresh  sound  that  suggested  anyone  ap- 
proaching. Her  nerves  were  on  edge  for  some  reason  she 
could  never  have  put  into  words.  She  did  not  fear,  yet  a 
curious  nervousness  was  hers  which  made  her  listen  acutely 
at  every  footstep,  and  breathe  her  relief  if  the  sound  died 
away  without  further  intrusion  upon  her  privacy. 

Presently  she  turned  back  to  the  window  with  just  such 
relief.  The  footstep  had  passed.  She  drew  her  feet  up  into 
the  ample  seat  of  the  rocking-chair,  and,  with  her  elbow 
resting  upon  its  arm,  heavily  pressed  her  chin  into  the  palm 
of  her  hand,  and  again  stared  at  the  rampart  of  mountains 
beyond. 

Nor  had  all  the  beauties  spread  out  before  her  yearning 
gaze  the  least  appeal  for  her.  How  should  they?  Her 
thoughts  were  roaming  in  a  world  of  her  own,  and  her  eyes 
were  occupied  in  gazing  upon  her  woman's  pictures  as  she 
saw  them  in  her  mind.  The  wonders  of  that  scene  of  natu- 
ral splendor  laid  out  before  her  had  no  power  to  penetrate 
the  armor  of  her  preoccupation.  All  her  mind  and  heart 
were  stirred  and  torn  by  emotions  such  as  only  a  woman  can 
understand,  only  a  woman  can  feel.  The  ancient  battle  of 
titanic  forces,  which  had  brought  into  existence  that  world 
of  stupendous  might  upon  which  her  unseeing  eyes  gazed, 
was  as  nothing,  it  seemed,  to  the  passionate  struggle  going 
on  in  her  torn  heart.  To  her  there  was  nothing  beyond  her 


THE  WOMAN  143 

own  regretful  misery,  her  own  dread  of  the  future,  her 
passionate  revulsion  at  thoughts  of  the  past. 

The  truth  was,  she  had  not  yet  found  the  happiness  she 
had  promised  herself,  that  had  been  promised  to  her.  She 
had  left  behind  her  all  that  life  which,  when  it  had  been 
hers,  she  had  hated.  Her  passionate  nature  had  drawn  her 
whither  its  stormy  waves  listed.  And  now  that  the  tempest 
was  passed,  and  the  driving  forces  had  ceased  to  urge,  leav- 
ing her  in  a  rock-bound  pool  of  reflection,  she  saw  the 
enormity  of  the  step  she  had  taken,  she  realized  the  strength 
of  Nature's  tendrils  which  still  bound  her  no  less  surely. 

The  mild  face  of  Scipio  haunted  her.  She  saw  in  her 
remorseful  fancy  his  wondering  blue  eyes  filled  with  the 
stricken  look  of  a  man  powerless  to  resent,  powerless  to 
resist.  She  read  into  her  thought  the  feelings  of  his  simple 
heart  which  she  had  so  wantonly  crushed.  For  she  knew  his 
love  as  only  a  woman  can.  She  had  probed  its  depth  and 
found  it  fathomless  —  fathomless  in  its  devotion  to  herself. 
And  now  she  had  thrown  him  and  his  love,  the  great 
legitimate  love  of  the  father  of  her  children,  headlong  out 
of  her  life. 

A  dozen  times  she  bolstered  her  actions  with  the  assurance 
that  she  did  not  want  his  love,  that  he  was  not  the  man  she 
had  ever  cared  for  seriously,  could  ever  care  for.  She  told 
herself  that  the  insignificance  of  his  character,  his  personal- 
ity, were  beneath  contempt.  She  desired  a  man  of  strength 
for  her  partner,  a  man  who  could  make  himself  of  some 
account  in  the  world  which  was  theirs. 

No,  she  did  not  want  Scipio.  He  was  useless  in  the 
scheme  of  life,  and  she  did  not  wish  to  have  to  "  mother  " 
her  husband.  Far  rather  would  she  be  the  slave  of  a  man 
whose  ruthless  domination  extended  even  to  herself.  And 
yet  Scipio's  mild  eyes  haunted  her,  and  stirred  something  in 
her  heart  that  maddened  her,  and  robbed  her  of  all  satisfac- 
tion in  the  step  she  had  taken. 


144       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

But  this  was  only  a  small  part  of  the  cause  of  her  present 
mood.  She  had  not  at  first  had  the  vaguest  understanding 
of  the  bonds  which  really  fettered  her,  holding  her  fast  to 
the  life  that  had  been  hers  for  so  long.  Now  she  knew. 
Arid  the  knowledge  brought  with  it  its  bitter  cost.  Some 
forewarning  had  been  hers  when  she  appealed  to  her  lover 
for  the  possession  of  her  children.  But  although  her 
mother's  instinct  had  been  stirred  to  alarm  at  parting,  she 
had  not,  at  that  time,  experienced  the  real  horror  of  what 
she  was  doing  in  abandoning  her  children. 

She  was  inconsolable  now.  With  all  her  mind  and  heart 
she  was  crying  out  for  the  warm,  moist  pressure  of  infant 
lips.  Her  whole  body  yearned  for  those  who  were  flesh  of 
her  flesh,  for  the  gentle  beating  hearts  to  which  her  body 
had  given  life.  They  were  hers  —  hers,  and  of  her  own 
action  she  had  put  them  out  of  her  life.  They  were  hers, 
and  she  was  maddened  at  the  thought  that  she  had  left  them 
to  another.  They  were  hers,  and  —  yes,  she  must  have 
them.  Whatever  happened,  they  must  be  restored  to  her. 
Life  would  be  intolerable  without  them. 

She  was  in  a  wholly  unreasoning  state  of  mind.  All  the 
mother  in  her  was  uppermost,  craving,  yearning,  panting  for 
her  own.  For  the  time,  at  least,  all  else  was  lost  in  an 
overwhelming  regret,  and  such  a  power  of  love  for  her 
offspring,  that  she  had  no  room  for  the  man  who  had 
brought  about  the  separation. 

She  was  a  selfish  woman,  and  had  always  craved  for  the 
best  that  life  could  give  her,  but  now  that  her  mother-love 
was  truly  roused  her  selfishness  knew  no  bounds.  She  had 
no  thought  for  anybody,  no  consideration.  She  could  have 
none  until  her  desire  was  satisfied. 

Her  tortured  heart  grew  angry  against  Scipio.  She  was 
driven  to  fury  against  James.  What  mattered  it  that  her 
lover  had  so  far  fulfilled  all  his  other  promises  to  her,  if  he 
did  not  procure  the  children  and  return  them  to  her  arms  ? 


THE  WOMAN  145 

What  mattered  it  that  she  was  surrounded  with  luxury 
uncommon  on  the  prairie,  a  luxury  she  had  not  known  for 
so  many  years  ? 

She  had  her  own  rooms,  where  no  one  intruded  without 
her  consent.  The  spacious  house  had  been  ransacked  to 
make  them  all  that  she  could  desire.  All  the  outlaw's 
associates  were  herded  into  the  background,  lest  their  pres- 
ence should  offend  her.  Even  James  himself  had  refrained 
from  forcing  his  attentions  upon  her,  lest,  in  the  first  rush  of 
feeling  at  her  breaking  with  the  old  life,  they  should  be 
unwelcome.  His  patience  and  restraint  were  wonderful  in 
a  man  of  his  peculiar  savagery.  And  surely  it  pointed  his 
love  for  her.  Had  it  been  simply  the  momentary  passion  of 
an  untamed  nature,  he  would  have  waited  for  nothing,  when 
once  she  had  become  his  possession. 

It  was  a  curious  anachronism  that  she  should  be  the 
mistress  of  the  situation  with  such  a  man  as  James.  Yet  so 
far  she  was  mistress  of  the  situation.  The  question  was, 
how  long  would  she  remain  so?  It  is  possible  that  she  had 
no  understanding  of  this  at  first.  It  is  possible  that  she 
would  have  resented  such  a  question,  had  it  occurred  to 
her  when  she  first  consented  to  break  away  from  her  old 
life. 

But  now  it  was  different.  Now  that  she  began  to  under- 
stand all  she  had  flung  away  for  this  man,  when  the  mother 
in  her  was  at  last  fully  aroused,  and  all  her  wits  were  driven 
headlong  to  discover  a  way  by  which  to  satisfy  her  all-con- 
suming desire  for  her  children,  now  the  native  cunning  of 
the  woman  asserted  itself.  She  saw  in  one  revealing  flash 
her  position,  she  saw  where  lay  her  power  at  the  moment, 
and  she  clung  to  it  desperately,  determined  to  play  the  man 
while  she  could  to  gain  her  ends. 

Thus  it  was  she  was  nervous,  apprehensive,  every  time 
she  thought  it  likely  that  her  lover  was  about  to  visit  her. 
She  dreaded  what  might  transpire.  She  dreaded  lest  her 


I46       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

power  should  be  weakened  before  she  had  accomplished  her 
end.  It  was  difficult ;  it  was  nerve-racking.  She  must  keep 
his  love  at  fever-heat.  It  was  her  one  chance. 

Again  she  started.  It  was  the  sound  of  a  fresh  footstep 
beyond  the  door.  She  glanced  at  the  door  with  half-startled 
eyes  and  sat  listening.  Then  her  lips  closed  decidedly  and 
a  look  of  purpose  crept  into  her  eyes.  A  moment  later  she 
stood  up.  She  was  pale,  but  full  of  purpose. 

"  Is  that  you,  Jim  ?  "  she  called. 

"  Sure,"  came  the  ready  response. 

The  next  instant  the  door  was  flung  open  and  the  man 
came  in. 

His  bronzed  face  was  smiling,  and  the  savage  in  him  was 
hidden  deep  down  out  of  sight.  His  handsome  face  was 
good  to  look  upon,  and  as  the  woman's  eyes  surveyed  his 
carefully  clad  slim  figure  she  felt  a  thrill  of  triumph  at  the 
thought  that  he  was  hers  at  the  raising  of  her  finger. 

But  she  faced  him  without  any  responsive  smile.  She  had 
summoned  him  with  a  very  definite  purpose  in  her  mind, 
and  no  display  of  anything  that  could  be  interpreted  into 
weakness  must  be  made. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you/'  she  said,  pointing  at  the  rocking- 
chair  she  had  just  vacated. 

James  glanced  at  the  chair.  Then  his  eyes  turned  back 
to  her  with  a  question  in  them.  Finally  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  flung  himself  into  the  seat,  and  stretched  out 
his  long  legs  luxuriously. 

Apparently  Jessie  had  not  noticed  the  shrug.  It  would 
have  been  better  had  she  done  so.  She  might  then  have 
understood  more  fully  the  man  she  was  dealing  with.  How- 
ever, she  turned  to  the  window  and  spoke  with  her  back  to 
him. 

"  It's  about  —  things,"  she  said  a  little  lamely. 

The  man's  smile  was  something  ironical,  as  his  eyes 
greedily  devoured  the  beauty  of  her  figure. 


THE  WOMAN  147 

"  I'm  glad,"  he  said  in  a  non-committing  way.  Then,  as 
no  reply  was  immediately  forthcoming,  he  added,  "  Get 
going." 

But  Jessie  made  no  answer.  She  was  thinking  hard,  and 
somehow  her  thoughts  had  an  uneasy  confusion  in  them. 
She  was  trying  hard  to  find  the  best  way  to  begin  that  which 
she  had  to  say,  but  every  opening  seemed  inadequate.  She 
must  not  appeal,  she  must  not  dictate.  She  must  adopt  some 
middle  course.  These  things  she  felt  instinctively. 

The  man  shifted  his  position  and  glanced  round  the 
room. 

"  Kind  of  snug  here,"  he  said  pleasantly,  running  his  eyes 
appreciatively  over  the  simple  decorations,  the  cheap  bric-a- 
brac  which  lined  the  walls  and,  in  a  world  where  all  decora- 
tion was  chiefly  conspicuous  by  its  absence,  gave  to  the  place 
a  suggestion  of  richness.  The  red  pine  walls  looked  warm, 
and  the  carpeted  floor  was  so  unusual  as  to  give  one  a  feeling 
of  extraordinary  refinement.  Then,  too,  the  chairs,  scat- 
tered about,  spoke  of  a  strain  after  civilized  luxury.  The 
whole  ranch-house  had  been  turned  inside  out  to  make 
Jessie's  quarters  all  she  could  desire  them. 

"  Yes,"  he  muttered,  "  it's  sure  snug."  Then  his  eyes 
came  back  to  the  woman.  "  Maybe  there's  something  I've 
forgotten.  Guess  you've  just  got  to  fix  a  name  to  it." 

Jessie  turned  instantly.  Her  beautiful  eyes  were  shining 
with  a  sudden  hope,  but  her  face  was  pale  with  a  hardly 
controlled  emotion. 

"  That's  easy,"  she  said.  "  I  want  my  children.  I  want 
little  Vada.  I  —  I  must  have  her.  You  promised  I  should. 
If  you  hadn't,  I  should  never  have  left.  I  must  have  her." 
She  spoke  breathlessly,  and  broke  off  with  a  sort  of  nervous 
jolt. 

In  the  pause  that  followed  James'  expression  underwent  a 
subtle  change.  It  was  not  that  there  was  any  definite  move- 
ment of  a  single  muscle.  His  smile  remained,  but,  some- 


148       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

how,  through  it  peeped  a  hard  look  which  had  not  been  there 
before. 

"  So  you  want  —  the  kids,"  he  said  at  last,  and  a  curious 
metallic  quality  was  in  his  voice.  "  Say,"  he  added  thought- 
fully, "  you  women  are  queer  ones." 

"  Maybe  we  are,"  retorted  Jessie.  She  tried  to  laugh  as 
she  spoke,  but  it  was  a  dismal  failure.  Then  she  hurried 
on.  "  Yes,"  she  cried  a  little  shrilly,  "  it  was  part  of  our 
bargain,  and  —  so  far  you  have  not  carried  it  out." 

"  Bargain  ?  "     The  man's  brows  went  up. 

"  Yes,  bargain." 

"  I  don't  remember  a  —  bargain."  James'  eyes  had  in 
them  an  ominous  glitter. 

"  Then  you've  got  a  bad  memory." 

"  I  sure  haven't,  Jess.  I  sure  haven't  that.  I  generally 
remember  good.  And  what  I  remember  now  is  that  I  prom- 
ised you  those  kids  if  you  needed  them.  I  swore  that  you 
should  have  'em.  But  I  made  no  bargain.  Guess  women 
don't  see  things  dead  right.  This  is  the  first  time  you've 
spoken  to  me  of  this,  and  you  say  I  haven't  fulfilled  my 
bargain.  When  I  refuse  to  give  you  them  kiddies,  it's  time 
to  take  that  tone.  You  want  them  kids.  Well  —  go  on." 

The  change  in  her  lover's  manner  warned  Jessie  that 
danger  lay  ahead.  In  the  brief  time  she  had  spent  under  his 
roof  she  had  already  learned  that,  as  yet,  she  had  only  seen 
the  gentlest  side  of  the  man,  and  that  the  other  side  was 
always  perilously  near  the  surface. 

In  the  beginning  this  had  been  rather  a  delight  to  her  to 
think  that  she,  of  all  people,  was  privileged  to  bask  in  the 
sunny  side  of  a  man  who  habitually  displayed  the  storm 
clouds  of  his  fiercer  side  to  the  world  in  general.  But  since 
that  time  a  change,  which  she  neither  knew  nor  understood, 
had  come  over  her,  and,  instead  of  rejoicing  that  he  pos- 
sessed that  harsher  nature,  she  rather  feared  it,  feared  that 
it  might  be  turned  upon  her. 


THE  WOMAN  149 

It  was  this  change  that  had  helped  to  bring  her  woman's 
cunning  into  play.  It  was  this  change  which  had  brought 
her  her  haunting  visions  of  the  old  life.  It  was  this  change 
which  had  prompted  her  that  she  must  keep  her  lover  at 
arm's  length  —  as  yet.  It  was  this  change,  had  she  paused 
to  analyze  it,  which  might  have  told  her  of  the  hideous  mis- 
take she  had  made.  That  the  passion  which  she  had  be- 
lieved to  be  an  absorbing  love  for  the  man  was  merely  a  pas- 
sion, a  base  human  passion,  inspired  in  a  weak,  discontented 
woman.  But  as  yet  she  understood  nothing  of  this.  The 
glamour  of  the  man's  personality  still  had  power  to  sway 
her,  and  she  acknowledged  it  in  her  next  words. 

"  Don't  be  angry,  Jim  dear,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  of 
seductive  sweetness  which  had  immediate  effect  upon  the 
man.  "  You  don't  understand  us  women.  We're  sure  un- 
reasonable where  our  love  is  concerned." 

Then  a  flush  spread  itself  slowly  over  her  handsome  face, 
and  passion  lit  her  eyes. 

"  But  I  must  have  my  children,"  she  broke  out  suddenly. 
"  One  of  them,  anyhow  —  little  Vada.  You  —  you  can't 
understand  all  it  means  to  be  away  from  them.  They  are 
mine.  They  are  part  of  me.  I  —  I  feel  I  could  kill  anyone 
who  keeps  them  from  me.  You  promised,  Jim,  you  sure 
did.  Get  her  for  me.  My  little  girl  —  my  little  Vada." 

The  man  had  risen  from  his  chair  and  moved  to  the 
window.  He  sat  on  the  rough  sill  facing  her.  His  eyes 
were  hot  with  passion,  too,  but  it  was  passion  of  a  very 
different  sort. 

"  And  if  I  do?  "  he  questioned  subtly. 

"If  you  do?"  Jessie's  eyes  widened  with  a  world  of 
cunning  simplicity. 

"  Yes,  if  I  do?  "     The  man's  face  was  nearer. 

"  You'll  have  fulfilled  your  promise." 

Jessie  had  turned  again  to  the  window,  and  her  eyes  were 
cold. 


150       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

The  man's  brows  drew  together  sharply,  and  his  dark  eyes 
watched  the  perfect  outline  of  her  oval  cheek.  Then  he 
drew  a  sharp  breath,  and  biting  words  leapt  to  his  lips.  But 
he  held  them  back  with  a  sudden  grip  that  was  perilously 
near  breaking.  Jessie's  power  was  still  enormous  with  him. 
But  this  very  power  was  maddening  to  a  man  of  his  nature, 
and  the  two  must  not  come  into  too  frequent  conflict. 

He  suddenly  laughed,  and  the  woman  turned  in  alarm  at 
the  note  that  sounded  in  it. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  tensely.  "  I'll  fulfill  my  promise.  It'll 
amuse  me,  sure,  getting  back  at  that  Sufferin'  Creek  lay-out. 
I  owe  them  something  for  keepin'  back  the  gold-stages. 
You  shall  have  Vada,  sure." 

He  broke  off  for  an  instant  and  drew  nearer.  He  leant 
forward,  and  one  arm  reached  out  to  encircle  her  waist. 
But  with  an  almost  imperceptible  movement  the  woman 
stood  beyond  his  reach. 

"  And  —  and  after  ?  "  he  questioned,  his  arm  still  out- 
stretched to  embrace  her. 

The  woman  made  no  answer. 

"And  after?" 

There  was  a  hot  glow  in  his  tone.  He  waited.  Then  he 
went  on. 

"  Then  I'll  have  done  everything,"  he  said  — "  all  that  a 
man  can  do  to  make  you  happy.  I'll  have  fulfilled  all  my 
promises.  I'll  —  And  you  ?  "  he  went  on,  coming  close  up 
to  her. 

This  time  she  did  not  repulse  him.  Instinct  told  her  that 
she  must  not.  Before  all  things  she  wanted  Vada.  So  his 
arms  closed  about  her,  and  a  shower  of  hot,  passionate  kisses 
fell  upon  her  face,  her  hair,  her  lips. 

At  last  she  pushed  him  gently  away.  For  the  moment  all 
the  old  passion  had  been  stirred,  but  now,  as  she  released 
herself,  an  odd  shiver  passed  through  her  body,  and  a  great 
relief  came  to  her  as  she  stood  out  of  his  reach.  It  was  the 


THE  WOMAN  151 

first  real,  definite  feeling  of  repulsion  she  had  had,  and  as 
she  realized  it  a  sudden  fear  gripped  her  heart,  and  she 
longed  to  rush  from  his  presence.  But,  even  so,  she  did  not 
fully  understand  the  change  that  was  taking  place  in  her. 
Her  predominating  thought  was  for  the  possession  of  little 
Vada,  and  she  urged  him  with  all  the  intensity  of  her 
longing. 

"  You'll  get  her  for  me  ?  "  she  cried,  with  an  excitement 
that  transfigured  her.  "  You  will.  Oh,  Jim,  I  can  never 
thank  you  sufficiently.  You  are  good  to  me.  And  when 
will  you  get  her  —  now  ?  Oh,  Jim,  don't  wait.  You  must  do 
it  now.  I  want  her  so  badly.  I  wonder  how  you'll  do  it. 
Will  you  take  her  ?  Or  will  you  ask  Zip  for  her  ?  I  —  I 
believe  he  would  give  her  up.  He's  such  a  queer  fellow.  I 
believe  he'd  do  anything  I  asked  him.  I  sure  do.  How 
are  you  going  to  get  her  ?  " 

The  man  was  watching  her  with  all  the  fire  of  his  love  in 
his  eyes.  It  was  a  greedy,  devouring  gaze  of  which  Jessie 
must  have  been  aware  had  she  only  been  thinking  less  of  her 
child.  Nor  did  he  answer  at  once.  Then  slowly  the  pas- 
sionate light  died  out  of  his  eyes,  and  they  became  thoughtful. 

"  Tell  me,"  the  woman  urged  him. 

Suddenly  he  looked  into  her  face  with  a  cruel  grin. 

"  Sit  down,  Jess,"  he  said  sharply,  "  and  write  a  letter  to 
Zip  asking  him,  in  your  best  lingo,  to  let  you  have  your  kid. 
An'  when  you  done  that  I'll  see  he  gets  it,  an' —  I'll  see  you 
get  the  kid.  But  make  the  letter  good  an'  hot.  Pile  up  the 
agony  biz.  I'll  fix  the  rest." 

For  a  moment  the  woman  looked  into  his  face,  now  lit 
with  such  a  cruel  grin.  Something  in  her  heart  gave  her 
pause.  Somehow  she  felt  that  what  she  was  called  upon  to 
do  was  intended  to  hurt  Zip  in  some  subtle  way,  and  the 
thought  was  not  pleasant.  She  didn't  want  to  hurt  Zip. 
She  tried  in  those  few  seconds  to  probe  this  man's  purpose. 
But  her  mind  was  not  equal  to  the  task.  Surely  a  letter 


152       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

appealing  to  Zip  could  not  really  hurt  him.  And  she  wanted 
little  Vada  so  much.  It  was  this  last  thought  that  decided 
her.  No,  nothing  should  stand  in  her  way.  She  steeled  her 
heart  against  her  better  feelings,  but  with  some  misgivings, 
and  sat  down  to  write. 

James  watched  her.  She  procured  paper  and  pen,  and  he 
watched  her  bending  over  the  table.  No  detail  of  her  face 
and  figure  escaped  his  greedy  eyes.  She  was  very  beautiful, 
so  beautiful  to  him  that  he  stirred  restlessly,  chafing  irritably 
under  the  restraint  he  was  putting  upon  himself.  Again  and 
again  he  asked  himself  why  he  was  fool  enough  to  do  as  he 
was  doing.  She  was  his.  There  was  no  one  to  stop  him, 
no  one  but  —  her. 

Ah !  There  was  the  trouble.  Such  was  the  man's  temper 
that  nothing  could  satisfy  him  that  gave  him  no  difficulty  of 
attaining.  His  was  the  appetite  of  an  epicure  in  all  things. 
Everything  in  its  way  must  be  of  the  best,  and  to  be  of  the 
best  to  him  it  must  be  the  most  difficult  of  achievement. 

He  waited  with  what  patience  he  could  until  the  letter 
was  written.  Then  he  watched  Jessie  seal  and  address  it. 
Then  she  rose  and  stood  staring  down  at  the  cruel  missive. 
She  knew  it  was  cruel  now,  for,  trading  on  the  knowledge 
of  the  man  who  was  to  receive  it,  she  had  appealed 
through  the  channel  of  her  woman's  weakness  to  all  that 
great  spirit  which  she  knew  to  abide  in  her  little  husband's 
heart. 

James  understood  something  of  what  was  passing  in  her 
mind.  And  it  pleased  him  to  think  of  what  he  had  forced 
her  to  do  —  pleased  him  as  cruelty  ever  pleases  the  truly 
vicious. 

At  last  she  held  the  missive  out  to  him. 

"  There  it  is,"  she  said.  And  as  his  hand  closed  upon  it 
her  own  was  drawn  sharply  away,  as  though  to  avoid  contact 
with  his. 

"  Good,"  he  said,  with  a  peculiar  grin. 


THE  WOMAN  153 

For  a  moment  the  silence  remained  unbroken.  Then  the 
woman  raised  appealing  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  You  won't  hurt  Zip  ?  "  she  said  in  a  voice  that  would 
surely  have  heartened  the  object  of  her  solicitude  had  he 
heard  it. 

The  man  shook  his  head.  His  jaws  were  set,  and  his 
smile  was  unpleasing. 

"  Guess  any  hurtin'  Zip  gets  '11  be  done  by  you." 

"Ah,  no,  no!" 

The  woman  reached  out  wildly  for  the  letter,  but  James 
had  passed  swiftly  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BIRDIE   AND   THE   BOYS 

THE  derelicts  of  a  mining  camp  must  ever  be  interesting 
to  the  student  of  human  nature,  so  wide  is  the  field  for  study. 
But  it  were  better  to  be  a  student,  simply,  when  probing 
amongst  the  refuse  heaps  of  life's  debris.  A  sentimentalist, 
a  man  of  heart,  would  quickly  have  it  broken  with  the  pity 
of  it  all.  A  city's  tragedies  often  require  search  to  reveal 
them,  but  upon  the  frontier  tragedy  stalks  unsepulchered 
in  the  background  of  nearly  every  life,  ready  to  leap  out 
in  all  its  naked  horror  and  settle  itself  leech-like  upon 
the  sympathetic  heart,  stifling  it  with  the  burden  of  its 
misery. 

No,  it  is  not  good  to  delve  into  the  dark  pages  of  such 
folks'  lives  too  closely,  unless  armored  with  impenetrable 
callousness.  But  one  cannot  help  wondering  whence  all 
those  living  tragedies  come.  Look  at  the  men.  For  the 
most  part  strong,  able  creatures,  apparently  capable  of  fight- 
ing the  lusty  battle  of  life  with  undiminished  ardor.  Look 
at  the  women.  They  are  for  the  most  part  thinking  women, 
healthy,  capable.  And  yet  —  well,  nine-tenths  of  them  are 
not  so  cut  off  from  their  home  cities,  their  friends  and 
relatives,  without  some  more  than  ordinary  reason. 

It  is  a  sad  sight  to  see  the  women  plunged  headlong  into 
the  fight  for  existence  in  such  places,  to  witness  the  cruel 
iron  thrust  upon  them  its  searing  brand,  to  watch  all  the 
natural  softness  of  their  sex  harden  to  the  necessary  degree 
for  a  successful  issue  to  the  battle,  to  witness  their  frequent 
unsexing  and  ultimate  degradation.  Such  results  are  com- 


BIRDIE  AND  THE  BOYS  155 

mon  enough  when  a  woman  enters  the  lists.  It  is  so  often  a 
mere  question  of  time.  And  when  the  end  is  achieved,  how 
awful,  how  revolting,  but  how  natural. 

How  Birdie  Mason  came  to  find  herself  the  one  woman 
on  Suffering  Creek  —  leaving  out  the  later  advent  of  Scipio's 
wife  —  it  is  not  for  us  to  ask.  Whatever  her  little  tragedy 
it  is  hers  alone,  and  does  not  concern  us.  All  that  we  need 
think  of  is  her  future,  and  the  pity  that  so  well-favored  a 
woman  has  not  found  her  lot  cast  in  places  where  her 
womanhood  has  its  best  chances.  However,  she  is  there, 
living  the  life  of  all  such  hired  "  helps,"  drudging  from 
morning  till  night  in  one  long  round  of  sordid  labor,  in 
an  atmosphere  stinking  with  the  fetid  breath  of  debased 
humanity. 

But  as  yet  the  life  has  made  no  inroads  upon  her  moral 
health.  Her  sunny  good  nature  sets  her  singing  over  the 
most  grinding  labors.  Her  smiling  face,  and  ready  tongue, 
give  her  an  air  of  happiness  and  joy  of  life  which  seems 
well-nigh  invincible.  And  her  popularity  contrives  her 
many  thrilling  moments  and  advantages  which  she  is  too 
much  a  woman  and  a  child  to  deny  herself. 

Her  day's  work  ends  with  the  after  supper  "  wash  up,"  a 
dreary  routine  which  might  well  crush  the  most  ardent  spirit. 
Yet  she  bends  over  her  tubs  full  of  crockery  dreaming  her 
sunny  dreams,  building  her  little  castles  to  the  clink  of 
enameled  tin  cups,  weaving  her  romances  to  the  clatter  of 
cutlery,  smiling  upon  the  mentally  conjured  faces  of  her 
boys  amidst  the  steaming  odors  of  greasy,  lukewarm  water. 
The  one  blot  upon  her  existence  is  perhaps  the  Chinese  cook, 
with  whom  she  has  perforce  to  associate.  She  dislikes  him 
for  no  other  reason  than  that  he  is  a  "  yaller-faced  doper  that 
ought  to  been  set  to  herd  with  a  menagerie  of  measly 
skunks."  But  even  this  annoyance  cannot  seriously  damp 
her  buoyancy,  and,  with  wonderful  feminine  philosophy,  she 
puts  him  out  of  her  mind  as  a  "  no  account  feller,  anyway." 


156       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

She  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  the  long  dining- 
table,  making  it  ready  for  the  next  day's  breakfast.  It  was 
not  an  elaborate  preparation.  She  "  dumped "  a  box  of 
knives  and  forks  at  each  end  of  it,  and  then  proceeded  to 
chase  any  odd  bits  of  debris  from  the  last  meal  on  to  the  floor 
with  a  duster.  Then,  with  a  hand-broom  and  pan,  she  took 
these  up  and  with  them  any  other  rubbish  that  might  be 
lying  about.  Finally,  she  set  jugs  of  drinking  water  at 
intervals  down  the  center  of  the  table,  and  her  work  was 
done. 

She  looked  about  her,  patting  her  fair  hair  with  that 
eminently  feminine  touch  which  is  to  be  seen  in  every 
woman  from  the  millionaire's  wife  down  to  the  poorest 
emigrant.  Then,  with  less  delicacy,  she  lifted  her  apron 
and  wiped  the  moisture  from  her  round  young  face. 

"  Guess  that's  'most  everything,"  she  murmured,  her  eyes 
brightening  at  the  contemplation  of  her  completed  task. 
"  I'll  just  cut  out  them—" 

She  went  to  a  cupboard  and  drew  out  a  parcel  of  white 
lawn  and  paper  patterns,  which  she  carefully  spread  out  on 
the  table.  And,  in  a  few  moments,  she  was  bending 
absorbedly  over  the  stuff,  lost  in  the  intricacies  of  hewing 
out  an  embryonic  garment  for  her  personal  adornment. 

It  was  at  this  task  that  Toby  Jenks  found  her.  He  was 
worried  to  death  at  the  thought  that,  as  a  member  of  the 
newly  formed  Zip  Trust,  it  was  his  duty  to  gather  informa- 
tion concerning  the  management  of  children.  However,  in 
the  midst  of  his  trouble  he  hit  on  the  brilliant  idea  of  con- 
sulting the  only  woman  of  his  acquaintance. 

Toby  wanted  to  do  something  startling  in  the  interests 
of  the  Trust.  He  felt  that  his  membership  had  been  con- 
ferred in  a  rather  grudging  spirit.  And,  to  his  mildly  re- 
sentful way  of  thinking,  it  seemed  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
if  he  could  surprise  his  friends  with  the  excellence  of  his 
services  in  the  general  interests  of  the  concern. 


BIRDIE  AND  THE  BOYS  157 

Birdie  heard  the  door  open,  and  raised  a  pair  of  startled 
eyes  at  the  intruder.  It  was  not  that  such  visits  were  out 
of  order,  or  even  uncommon,  but  they  generally  occurred 
after  pre-arrangement,  which  gave  her  the  opportunity  of 
"  fixing  herself  right." 

With  a  wild  grab  she  scrambled  her  material,  and  the 
pattern,  so  that  its  identification  would  be  quite  impossible 
to  male  eyes,  and  hugged  it  in  her  arms.  Turning  swiftly 
she  thrust  it  into  the  cupboard,  and  slammed  the  door.  But 
she  had  no  resentment  at  the  interruption.  Toby  was  quite 
a  new  visitor,  and,  well  —  the  more  the  merrier. 

She  turned  to  him  all  smiles,  and  Toby  returned  her 
welcome  something  sheepishly.  He  cut  a  quaint  figure  with 
his  broad,  ungainly  shoulders  supporting  his  rather  pumpkin 
face.  Then  his  arms  were  a  little  too  long  and  terminated 
in  two  "  leg-of-mutton  "  hands. 

"  Evenin',  Birdie,"  he  said  bashfully.  "  Guess  you  were 
sewin'?" 

"  Guess  again,"  cried  the  girl  readily,  her  eyes  dancing  at 
the  contemplation  of  a  few  moments'  badinage  with  a  new 
candidate  for  her  favors. 

"  Well,  you  wa'an't  playin'  the  planner." 

But  Birdie  was  quite  equal  to  the  best  efforts  of  her 
candidates. 

"  My,  but  ain't  you  slick?  "  she  cried,  allowing  her  smiling 
gaze  to  remain  looking  straight  into  his  face  in  a  way  she 
knew  never  failed  to  confuse  her  admirers  on  Suffering 
Creek.  She  watched  till  the  sturdy  man's  eyes  turned  away, 
and  knew  that  he  was  groping  for  an  adequate  retort.  This 
effect  was  the  result  of  practice  with  her,  a  practice  she 
thoroughly  enjoyed. 

The  "  leg-of-mutton  "  hands  fumbled  their  way  into  the 
tops  of  Toby's  trousers,  and,  with  a  sudden  self-assertion, 
which  fitted  him  badly,  he  lurched  over  to  the  table,  beyond 
which  Birdie  was  standing.  It  was  his  intention  to  seat 


158       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

himself  thereon,  but  his  tormentor  had  not  yet  reached  the 
point  where  she  could  allow  such  intimacy. 

"  Say,  I  ain't  ast  you  to  sit  around,"  she  said,  with  an 
alluring  pout.  "  Men-folk  don't  sit  around  in  a  lady's 
parlor  till  they're  ast.  'Sides,  the  table's  fixed  f er  breakfast. 
And  anyway  it  ain't  for  settin'  on." 

Toby  moved  away  quickly,  his  attempt  at  ease  deserting 
him  with  ludicrous  suddenness.  At  sight  of  his  blushing 
face  Birdie  relaxed  her  austerity. 

"Say,  ain't  you  soft?"  she  declared,  with  a  demure 
lowering  of  her  lids.  "  I've  allus  heerd  say,  you  only  got 
to  tell  a  feller  don't,  an*  he  sure  does  it  quick.  Men-folk  is 
that  contrary.  Now — " 

The  encouragement  brought  its  reward.  Toby  promptly 
sat  himself  on  the  table  and  set  it  creaking. 

"  Well,  I  do  declare !  "  cried  Birdie,  in  pretended  indigna- 
tion. "  And  I  never  ast  you,  neither.  I  don't  know,  I'm 
sure.  Some  folks  has  nerve." 

But  this  time  Toby  was  not  to  be  intimidated.  Perhaps 
it  was  the  girl's  bright  smile.  Perhaps,  with  marvelous 
inspiration,  he  saw  through  her  flirtatious  methods.  Any- 
way, he  remained  where  he  was,  grinning  sheepishly  up  into 
her  face. 

"  Guess  you  best  push  me  off.  I  ain't  heavy,"  he  dared 
her  clumsily. 

"  I  sure  wouldn't  demean  myself  that  way,"  she  retorted. 
"  Gee,  me  settin'  hands  on  a  feller  like  you.  It  would  need 
a  prize-fighter." 

The  acknowledgment  of  his  size  and  strength  was  a  subtle 
tribute  which  pleased  the  man,  as  it  was  intended  to.  He 
preened  himself  and  drew  his  knees  up  into  his  arms,  in 
an  attitude  intended  to  be  one  of  perfect  ease  and  to  show 
his  confidence. 

"  I  sure  ain't  much  of  a  feller  for  strength,"  he  said 
modestly,  eyeing  his  enormous  arms  and  hands  affection- 


BIRDIE  AND  THE  BOYS  159 

ately.     "  You  ought  to  see  Wild  Bill.     He  —  he  could  eat 
me,  an'  never  worry  his  digestion." 

Birdie  laughed  happily.  She  was  always  ready  to  laugh 
at  a  man's  attempt  at  humor.  That  was  her  way. 

"  You  are  a  queer  one,"  she  said,  seating  herself  on  the 
opposite  edge  of  the  table,  so  that  she  was  sufficiently  adja- 
cent, and  at  the  requisite  angle  at  which  to  carry  on  her 
flirtation  satisfactorily.  "  Say,"  she  went  on,  with  a  down 
drooping  of  her  eyelids,  "  why  ain't  you  in  there  playin' 
poker?  Guess  you're  missin'  heaps  o'  fun.  I  wish  I  was 
a  'boy/  I  wouldn't  miss  such  fun  by  sitting  around  in 
here." 

"Wouldn't  you?"  Toby  grinned,  while  his  brains 
struggled  to  find  a  happy  reply.  "  Well,  you  see,"  he 
hazarded  at  last,  "  poker  an*  whisky  ain't  to  be  compared  to 
talkin'  to  a  dandy  fine  gal  with  yaller  hair  an'  elegant  blue 
eyes." 

He  passed  one  of  his  great  hands  across  his  forehead  as 
though  his  attempt  had  made  him  perspire.  But  he  had  his 
reward.  Birdie  contrived  a  blush  of  pleasure,  and  edged  a 
little  nearer  to  him. 

"  Gee,  you  can  talk  pretty,"  she  declared,  her  lips  parted 
in  an  admiring  smile.  "  It  makes  me  kind  o'  wonder  how 
you  fellers  learn  it."  Then  she  added  demurely,  "  But  I 
ain't  pretty,  nor  nothing  like  you  fellers  try  to  make  out. 
I'm  jest  an  ord'nary  sort  of  girl." 

"  No  you  ain't,"  broke  in  Toby,  feeling  that  his  initial 
success  had  put  him  on  the  top  of  the  situation,  and  that  he 
had  nothing  now  to  fear.  Besides,  he  really  felt  that  Birdie 
was  an  uncommonly  nice  girl,  and,  in  a  vague  way,  won- 
dered he  had  never  noticed  it  before. 

"That  you  ain't,"  he  went  on  emphatically.  Then  he 
added  as  though  to  clinch  his  statement,  "  not  by  a  sight." 

This  brought  him  to  a  sudden  and  uncomfortable  stop. 
He  knew  he  ought  to  go  on  piling  up  compliment  on  com- 


160       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

pliraent  to  make  good  his  point.  But  he  had  emptied  his 
brain  cells  by  his  threefold  denial,  and  now  found  himself 
groping  in  something  which  was  little  better  than  a  vacuum. 
And  in  his  trouble  he  found  himself  wishing  he  was  gifted 
with  Sunny's  wit.  Wild  Bill's  force  would  have  carried  him 
through,  or  even  Sandy  Joyce's  overweening  confidence 
would  have  kept  his  head  above  water.  As  it  was  he  was 
stuck.  Hopelessly,  irretrievably  at  the  end  of  his  resources. 

He  perspired  in  reality  now,  and  let  his  knees  drop  out  of 
his  arms.  This  movement  was  his  salvation.  With  the 
relaxing  of  his  physical  effort  the  restraining  grip  upon 
his  thinking  powers  gave  way.  Inspiration  leaped,  and  he 
found  himself  talking  again  almost  before  he  was  aware 
of  it. 

"  You're  a  real  pretty  gal,  Birdie,"  he  heard  himself  say- 
ing. "  Now,  maybe  you  got  some  kids  ?  "  he  added,  with  an 
automatic  grin  of  ingratiation. 

How  the  inquiry  slipped  out  he  never  knew.  How  it  had 
been  formulated  in  his  brain  remained  a  riddle  that  he  was 
never  able  to  solve.  But  there  it  was,  plain  and  decided. 
There  was  no  shirking  it.  It  was  out  in  all  its  naked 
crudeness. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  which  might  have  been 
hours,  it  seemed  so  horribly  long  to  the  waiting  man.  He 
became  dimly  aware  of  a  sudden  hardening  in  Birdie's  eyes, 
a  mounting  flush  to  her  cheeks  and  forehead,  a  sudden,  as- 
tounding physical  movement,  and  then  the  work-worn  palm 
of  her  hand  came  into  contact  with  his  cheek  with  such 
force  as  to  prove  the  value  to  her  physical  development  of 
the  strenuous  labors  which  were  hers. 

He  never  thought  a  woman's  hand  could  sting  so  much. 
He  never  thought  that  he  could  be  made  to  feel  so  mean  as 
this  girl's  sudden  vehemence  made  him  feel. 

"  How  dare  you,  you  bumming  remittance  feller  ?  "  she 
cried,  with  eyes  blazing  and  bosom  heaving.  "  How  dare 


BIRDIE  AND  THE  BOYS  161 

yOU  —  you  —  you  — "  And  then  she  further  punished  him 
with  that  worst  of  all  feminine  punishments- — she  burst 
into  tears. 

The  next  few  moments  were  never  quite  clear  to  the  dis- 
tracted and  unthinking  Toby.  He  never  really  knew  what 
actually  happened.  He  had  a  confused  memory  of  saying 
things  by  way  of  apology,  of  making  several  pacific  over- 
tures, which  met  with  physical  rebuffs  of  no  mean  order, 
and  tearful  upbraidings  which  were  so  mixed  up  with  chok- 
ing sniffs  as  to  be  fortunately  more  or  less  unintelligible. 
Finally,  when  he  came  to  his  ordinary  senses,  and  the  dead 
level  of  his  understanding  was  fully  restored,  he  found  him- 
self grasping  the  girl  firmly  by  the  waist,  her  golden  head 
lying  snugly  on  his  massive  shoulder,  and  with  a  distinct 
recollection  of  warm  ripe  lips  many  times  pressed  upon  his 
own.  All  of  which  was  eminently  pleasing. 

When  once  these  comfortable  relations  were  thoroughly 
established,  he  had  no  difficulty  in  clearing  the  clouds  from 
her  horizon,  and  relegating  her  tears  into  the  background. 
Her  nature  was  of  a  much  too  smiling  order  to  need  a  great 
deal  of  coaxing.  But  explanation  was  needed,  and  explana- 
tion never  came  easily  to  this  stalwart  dullard. 

"  Y'see,  what  I  meant  was,"  he  said,  with  a  troubled  frown 
of  intense  concentration,  "  maybe  you  know  about  kids.  I 
didn't  mean  offense,  I  sure  didn't.  Everybody  knows  our 
Birdie  to  be  jest  a  straight,  up-standing  proper  gal,  who 
wouldn't  hurt  nobody,  nor  nuthin',  'cep'  it  was  a  buzzin' 
fly  around  the  supper  hash.  No  feller  don't  take  no  account 
o'  her  bein'  a  pot-wallopin',  hash-slingin'  mutton  rustler.  It 
sure  ain't  no  worse  than  ladlin'  swill  to  prize  hogs.  It's  jest 
in  the  way  o'  business.  'Sides,  she  don't  need  to  care  what 
no  fellers  thinks.  She  ain't  stuck  on  men-folk  wuth  a  cent." 

:(  That  I  sure  ain't,"  asserted  a  smothered  voice  from  the 
bosom  of  his  dirty  shirt. 

"That  you  ain't,"  he  reassured  her.    "You're  jest  a 


i62       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

dandy  gal  as  'ud  make  any  feller  with  a  good  patch  o'  pay 
dirt  a  real  elegant  sort  o'  wife." 

The  golden  head  snuggled  closer  into  his  shirt. 

"  You  ain't  got  no  patch  o'  pay  dirt,  Toby  ?  "  she  inquired. 

Toby  shook  his  head  all  unsuspiciously. 

"  No  sech  luck,"  he  asserted.  Then  with  a  sudden  burst 
of  gallantry,  "  If  I  had  I  don't  guess  there'd  be  no  Birdie 
Mason  chasm'  around  these  parts  unbespoke." 

The  girl's  eyes  developed  an  almost  childish  simplicity  as 
they  looked  up  into  his  foolish  face. 

"  What  d'you  mean?" 

"  Mean  ?     Why,  jest  nothin',  only  — " 

Toby  laughed  uneasily.  And  a  shadow  crossed  Birdie's 
face. 

"  I  don't  guess  the  patch  o'  pay  dirt  matters  a  heap,"  she 
said,  with  subtle  encouragement. 

"  That's  so,"  agreed  Toby. 

"  Y'see,  a  gal  don't  marry  a  feller  fer  his  patch  o'  pay 
dirt,"  she  went  on,  doing  her  best. 

"  Sure  she  don't." 

But  Toby's  enthusiasm  was  rapidly  cooling.  The  girl 
breathed  a  sigh  of  perfect  content.  And  her  heavy  breath- 
ing was  fast  making  a  moist  patch  amidst  the  gravel  stains 
on  his  shirt  front. 

"  She  jest  loves  a  feller—" 

Toby's  arm  slipped  from  her  waist,  and  a  hunted  look 
crept  into  his  foolish  eyes. 

"  An'  she  don't  care  nothin' — " 

The  man  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  racking  fit  of 
coughing,  which  somehow  jolted  the  girl  into  an  upright 
position. 

"  Course  she  don't,"  he  agreed,  when  his  paroxysm  had 
passed.  "  Say,  you  don't  think  I  got  newmony  ?  "  he  in- 
quired, feeling  the  need  for  an  abrupt  change  of  subject. 
"  I  was  allus  weak-chested  as  a  kid.  An'  talkin'  o'  kids," 


BIRDIE  AND  THE  BOYS  163 

he  hurried  on,  in  his  terror  recalling  the  object  of  his  visit, 
"  guess  you  ken  put  me  wise." 

"Kids?  I  wasn't  talkin'  of  kids,"  protested  the  girl  a 
little  angrily. 

She  was  hurt.  Cruelly  hurt.  All  her  best  efforts  had 
gone  for  nothing.  A  moment  before  Toby  had  seemed  so 
nearly  hers,  and  now  — 

"  No.  I  didn't  guess  you  were.  But  —  that  is  —  you 
see—" 

The  man  floundered  heavily  and  broke  off.  His  look  was 
one  of  comical  confusion  and  trouble.  So  much  so  that  it 
was  too  much  for  the  girl's  good  nature. 

"  Whose  kids  ?  "  she  demanded,  the  familiar  smile  creep- 
ing back  into  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  pursing  dryly.  "  Yours  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  denied  the  man  quickly.  "  Not  mine.  It's 
Zip's.  Y'see,  since  his  wife's  lit  out  he's  kind  o'  left  with 
'em.  An'  he's  that  fool-headed  he  don't  know  how  to  raise 
'em  proper.  So  I  guessed  I'd  help  him.  Now,  if  you  put 
me  wise — " 

"You  help  raise  Zip's  kids?  Gee!"  The  girl  slid  off 
the  table  and  stood  eyeing  him,  her  woman's  humor  tickled 
to  the  limit. 

But  Toby  did  not  realize  it.  He  was  in  deadly  earnest 
now. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  simply.  Then,  with  a  gleam  of  intelli- 
gence, "  How'd  you  raise  'em?  " 

The  girl  was  suddenly  stirred  to  a  feeling  of  good-hu- 
mored malice. 

"  How'd  I  raise  'em?    Why,  it  ain't  jest  easy." 

"It  sure  ain't,"  agreed  Toby  heartily.  "Now,  how'd 
you  feed  'em  ?  " 

Birdie  became  judicially  wise. 

"  Well,"  she  began,  "  you  can't  jest  feed  'em  same  as 
ord'nary  folks.  They  need  speshul  food.  You'll  need  to 
give  'em  boiled  milk  plain  or  with  pap,  you  kin  git  fancy 


164       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

crackers  an'  soak  'em.  Then  ther's  beef -tea.  Not  jest 
ord'nary  beef -tea.  You  want  to  take  a  boilin'  o'  bones,  an' 
boil  for  three  hours,  an'  then  skim  well.  After  that  you 
might  let  it  cool  some,  an'  then  you  add  flavorin'.  Not 
too  much,  an'  not  too  little,  jest  so's  to  make  it  elegant 
tastin'.  Then  you  cook  toasties  to  go  with  it,  or  give  'em 
crackers.  Serve  it  to  'em  hot,  an'  jest  set  around  blowin'  it 
so  it  don't  scald  their  little  stummicks.  Got  that?  You 
can  give  'em  eggs,  but  not  too  much  meat.  Meat  well  done 
an'  cut  up  wi'  vegetables  an'  gravy,  an'  make  'em  eat  it  with 
a  spoon.  Knives  is  apt  to  cut  'em.  Eggs  light  boiled,  an' 
don't  let  'em  rub  the  yolk  in  their  hair,  nor  slop  gravy  over 
their  bow-ties.  Candy,  some,  but  it  ain't  good  for  their 
teeth,  which  needs  seein'  to  by  a  dentist,  anyway.  Say, 
if  they're  cuttin'  teeth  you  ken  let  'em  chew  the  beef  bones, 
it  helps  'em  thro'.  Fancy  canned  truck  ain't  good  'less  it's 
baked  beans,  though  I  'lows  beans  cooked  reg'lar  is  best. 
You  soak  'em  twenty-four  hours,  an'  boil  'em  soft,  an'  see 
the  water  don't  boil  away.  Fruit  is  good  if  they  ain't  sub- 
jec'  to  colic,  which  needs  poultices  o'  linseed,  an'  truck  like 
that.  Don't  let  'em  eat  till  they're  blown  up  like  frogs,  an' 
—  you  got  all  that?" 

"  Ye-es,"  replied  the  bewildered  man  a  little  helplessly. 

"  Well,"  continued  the  smiling  girl,  "  then  there's  their 
manners  an'  things." 

Toby  nodded  vaguely. 

"  You'll  need  to  give  'em  bed  at  sundown,"  Birdie  hurried 
on.  "  An'  up  at  sunrise.  Clothes  needs  washin'  at  least 
once  a  month  —  with  soap.  See  they  says  their  prayers, 
an'  bath  'em  once  a  week  reg'lar  —  with  soap.  But  do  it 
Sundays.  An'  after  that  give  'em  a  Bible  talk  for  an  hour. 
Then  I  dessay  they'll  need  physic  once  a  week  —  best  give 
it  Saturday  nights.  Don't  fix  'em  that  way  same  as  a 
horse,  their  stummicks  ain't  made  of  leather.  You  got  all 
that?" 


BIRDIE  AND  THE  BOYS  165 

Toby  gave  a  bewildered  nod. 

"  How  'bout  when  they're  sick  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Sick  ?  Why,  see  they  don't  muss  their  clothes,"  Birdie 
answered  cheerfully.  "  Guess  that's  put  you  wise  to  most 
everything." 

"  Sure."  Toby  slid  from  the  table,  feeling  dazed.  Nor 
had  he  the  courage  to  ask  any  more  questions.  He  was 
trying  hard  to  fix  the  salient  points  of  the  information  in  his 
whirling  brain,  but  all  he  could  remember  was  that  all  wash- 
ing must  be  done  with  soap,  and  the  children  must  have 
bones  to  keep  their  teeth  right.  He  clung  to  these  things 
desperately,  and  felt  that  he  must  get  away  quickly  before 
they,  too,  should  slip  through  the  sieve  of  his  memory. 

"  Guess  I'll  git  along  an' —  an'  see  to  things,"  he  mur- 
mured vaguely,  without  glancing  in  Birdie's  direction. 
"You  said  beef  bones?"  he  added,  passing  a  hand  per- 
plexedly across  his  forehead. 

"  Sure,"  smiled  the  girl. 

"  Good.  Thanks."  Then  he  moved  heavily  off.  "  Beef 
bones  and  soap  —  bath  an'  Bible  talk;  beef  bones  an* 
soap  — " 

The  girl  watched  him  vanish  behind  the  closing  door, 
muttering  as  he  went  to  "  see  to  things." 

She  stood  for  some  moments  where  he  had  left  her.  The 
smile  was  still  in  her  eyes,  but  its  humor  had  died  out.  She 
was  unfeignedly  sorry  he  had  gone.  He  was  such  a  good- 
natured  simpleton,  she  thought.  A  real  good-hearted  sort. 
Just  the  sort  to  make  a  husband  worth  having.  Ah,  well, 
he  had  gone !  Better  luck  next  time. 

She  turned  away  with  a  deep,  sentimental  sigh,  and 
crossed  over  to  the  cupboard.  She  drew  out  her  work  once 
more  and  again  spread  out  the  crumpled  paper  pattern  upon 
the  gossamer  lawn. 

Yes,  Toby  would  have  suited  her  well.  She  heaved  an- 
other sigh.  He  had  remittances  from  home,  too.  And  he 


166       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

wouldn't  be  difficult  to  manage.  His  head  was  rather  a 
funny  shape,  and  his  face  didn't  suggest  brightness,  but 
then  — 

She  began  to  snip  at  the  material  with  her  rusty  scissors. 
But  just  as  her  mind  had  fully  concentrated  upon  her  task 
a  sudden  sound  startled  her.  She  looked  up,  listening,  and 
the  next  moment  the  door  was  flung  wide,  and  Sandy  Joyce 
stood  framed  in  the  opening. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BIRDIE   GIVES   MORE  ADVICE 

THE  ordinary  woman  would  probably  have  resented  this 
second  interruption,  taking  into  consideration  the  nature  of 
Birdie's  occupation,  and  the  fact  that  Toby's  visit  had  hardly 
proved  a  success  from  her  point  of  view.  But  Birdie  was 
only  partially  ordinary.  Her  love  and  admiration  for  the 
opposite  sex  was  so  much  the  chief  part  of  her  composition 
that  all  other  considerations  gave  way  before  it.  Her  heart 
thrilled  with  a  sickly  sentiment  at  all  times.  To  her  men 
were  the  gods  of  the  universe,  and,  as  such,  must  be  propiti- 
ated, at  least  in  theory.  In  practice  it  might  be  necessary  to 
flout  them,  to  tease  them,  even  to  snub  them  —  on  rare  occa- 
sions. But  this  would  only  come  after  intimacy  had  been 
established.  After  that  her  attitude  would  be  governed  by 
circumstances,  and  even  then  her  snubs,  her  floutings,  her 
teasing,  would  only  be  done  as  a  further  lure,  a  further  pro- 
pitiation. She  loved  them  all  with  a  wonderful  devotion. 
Her  heart  was  large,  so  large  that  the  whole  race  of  men 
could  have  been  easily  lost  in  its  mysterious  and  obscure  re- 
cesses. 

Again  her  work  was  bundled  into  the  cupboard,  the  poor 
flimsy  pattern  further  suffering.  But  beyond  a  casual  won- 
der if  the  garment  would  eventually  be  wearable,  cut  from 
so  mangled  a  pattern,  she  had  no  real  care. 

Her  smiling  eyes  turned  readily  upon  the  newcomer  the 
moment  her  secret  labors  had  been  hidden  from  prying  male 
eyes.  And  there  was  no  mistaking  her  cordiality  for  this 
cold-eyed  visitor. 


i68       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  Sakes  alive!  but  you  do  look  fierce,"  she  cried  challen- 
gingly.  "  You  sure  must  be  in  a  bad  temper." 

But  Sandy's  expression  was  simply  the  outcome  of  long 
and  difficult  consideration.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  in  his  hard 
way,  he  was  feeling  very  delighted.  His  past  married 
experience  had  brought  him  to  the  conviction  that  here  was 
the  only  person  in  Suffering  Creek  who  could  help  him. 

And,  furthermore,  he  was  well  satisfied  to  think  that  only 
his  experience  as  a  married  man  could  have  suggested  to 
him  this  means  of  gaining  the  information  required  by  their 
president,  and  so  shown  him  the  way  to  surpass  his  com- 
rades in  his  efforts  on  behalf  of  the  Trust. 

But  his  knowledge  of  womankind  warned  him  that  he 
must  not  be  too  hasty.  He  must  not  show  his  hand  until  he 
had  established  himself  in  a  favorable  position  in  the  sus- 
ceptible Birdie's  heart.  With  this  object  in  view  he  set  him- 
self to  offer  his  blandishments  in  characteristic  fashion.  He 
did  not  suffer  from  Toby's  complaint  of  bashfulness.  Mar- 
ried life  had  cured  him  of  that.  In  consequence,  his 
method,  if  crude,  was  direct. 

"  I  can't  say  the  same  of  you,  Birdie,"  he  declared  unsmil- 
ingly.  "  You're  bloomin'  as  —  as  a  kebbige." 

"  Kebbige?  "  sniffed  the  girl. 

"  Kebbige,  sure,"  nodded  the  man  of  married  experience. 
"  Guess  mebbe  it  ain't  a  bokay  f er  smell.  But  f er  taste  — 
with  corned  beef  ?  Gee !  " 

Birdie  took  no  umbrage. 

"  You  got  to  it  —  after  awhiles,"  she  remarked  slyly. 
Then  she  added,  with  a  gush,  "  D'you  know,  I'm  allus  most 
scared  to  death  of  you  men.  You're  that  big  an'  strong,  it 
makes  me  feel  you  could  well-nigh  eat  me." 

Sandy  availed  himself  of  the  invitation. 

"  A  tasty  mouthful,"  he  declared.  And  without  more  ado 
he  passed  round  the  table,  caught  her  quickly  in  his  arms, 
and,  without  the  smallest  expression  of  interest,  kissed  her, 


BIRDIE  GIVES  MORE  ADVICE  169 

If  interest  were  lacking,  his  movements  were  so  swift  that, 
had  the  girl  the  least  idea  of  avoiding  the  embrace  —  which 
she  hadn't  —  she  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  do  so. 

"  You  men  are  ones ! "  she  declared,  with  a  little  gasp,  as 
his  arms  fell  from  about  her. 

"How's  that?" 

"  I  never  did  —  the  cheek  of  some  of  you !  " 

"  A  feller  needs  cheek,"  replied  the  self -satisfied  widower. 
"  'Specially  with  pretty  gals  around,"  he  added  condescend- 
ingly. 

Birdie  eyed  him  archly. 

"  Gals  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  should  have  said  '  gal/  " 

The  laughing  nod  that  rewarded  him  assured  Sandy  that 
he  was  well  on  the  right  track,  and  at  once  he  took  the  op- 
portunity of  introducing  the  object  of  his  visit. 

"  Say,"  he  began,  "  guess  you  never  tho't  o'  gettin'  hitched 
up  to  a  feller  ?  " 

Birdie  lowered  her  eyelids  and  struggled  for  a  blush,  which 
somehow  defied  her  best  efforts.  But  her  subtleties  were 
quite  lost  upon  Sandy,  and  in  his  eagerness  he  waited  for  no 
reply. 

"  No,  course  you  hain't.  You  got  so  many  beaus  to 
choose  from.  'Sides,"  he  added  thoughtfully,  "  gettin'  mar- 
ried sure  needs  special  savvee.  What  I  mean,"  he  ex- 
plained, seeing  the  amused  wonder  in  the  girl's  now  wide 
eyes,  "  you  kind  o'  need  eddicatin'  to  git  married.  Y'see, 
when  you  get  fixed  that  way  you  sort  of,  in  a  manner  of 
speakin',  got  to  unlearn  things  you  never  learnt,  an'  learn 
them  things  what  can't  never  be  taught.  What  I  mean  is, 
marriage  is  a  sort  of  eddication  of  itself,  wot  don't  learn  you 
nuthin'  till  you  git  —  unmarried.  Savee  ?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head  in  bewilderment. 

"  That's  sure  too  bright  fer  me." 

"  That's  'cos  you  ain't  been  married.     Y'see,  I  have." 


170       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  Can't  you  put  it  easier  —  seein'  I  ain't  been  married  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  can."  Sandy  took  up  a  position  on  the  edge  of 
the  table  with  such  a  judicial  air  that  the  girl  started  to 
giggle. 

"  See  here,"  he  began  largely.  "  Now  what  d'you  know 
'bout  kids  —  raisin'  'em,  I  mean  ?  " 

The  girl's  eyes  twinkled  on  the  verge  of  laughing  outright. 

"  Zip's  kids  ?  "  she  inquired  shrewdly. 

Sandy  started  and  frowned. 

"  What  d'you  mean  —  Zip's  kids  ?  " 

"  Oh,  just  nothing,"  said  Birdie  airily.  "  Seein'  kids  was 
in  your  mind,  I  naturally  tho't  o'  Zip's." 

Sandy  nodded.  But  he  was  only  half  convinced.  How 
on  earth,  he  wondered,  did  she  know  he  was  thinking  of 
Zip's  kids  ?  He  felt  that  it  would  be  best  to  nip  that  idea  in 
the  bud.  It  was  undignified  that  he  should  appear  to  be 
interested  in  Zip's  twins. 

"  I  ain't  interested  in  no  special  kids,"  he  said,  with  some 
dignity.  "I  was  just  theorizin' — like.  Now,  if  you  got 
married,  wot  you  know  of  raisin'  kids?  Guess  you're  that 
ignorant  of  the  subject  maybe  you'd  feed  'em  hay?  " 

Birdie  laughed  dutifully,  but  her  retort  was  rather  discon- 
certing. 

"  You  bin  married  —  how'd  you  feed  'em  ?     I'm  learning." 

"  How'd  I  feed  'em  ?  "  Sandy  eyed  his  tormentor  severely. 
"  That  ain't  the  question.  How'd  you  feed  'em  ?  " 

The  girl  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then  looked  up 
brightly. 

"If  they  was  Zip's  kids— " 

"  I  said  they  ain't." 

"  Well,  if  they  were,  I'd  say—" 

"  See  here,  cut  Zip's  kids  out.  They  ain't  in  this  shootin* 
match,"  cried  Sandy  testily. 

But  Birdie  persisted  slyly. 

"  Y'see,  I  must  get  some  kids  in  my  eye  if  I'm  to  answer 


BIRDIE  GIVES  MORE  ADVICE  171 

you  right,"  she  said.  "  I  can  see  things  better  that  way. 
Now,  if  they  were  Zip's  kids  — " 

"  Which  they  ain't,"  asseverated  the  man  doggedly. 

"  Which  they  ain't,"  nodded  Birdie,  "  I'd  feed  'em  cereals 
an'  pap  — " 

Sandy's  face  suddenly  cleared.  His  whole  being  seemed 
to  expand. 

"  Say,  you're  a  bright  gal,"  he  declared.  "  Cereals  an' 
pap.  That's  dead  right.  Say,  you  know  more  than  — 
You'd  give  'em  milk  to  drink  —  now  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  Oh  no,  nothing  like  that.     Water." 

The  man  looked  disappointed. 

"Water?"  he  said.  "You  sure  of  that?  But  I  guess 
you'd  give  'em  banannys  ?  " 

Again  the  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  Fruit  gives  'em  colic." 

"Ah,  yes,  that's  so.  They'd  need  physic  then,  wouldn't 
they?"  ' 

"  You  need  to  be  easy  with  physic,  too,"  declared  the  girl, 
with  sparkling  eyes.  "  Don't  give  'em  physic  ever  unless 
they're  real  sick." 

The  man's  crestfallen  appearance  set  Birdie  giggling.  She 
was  enjoying  the  situation.  She  meant  to  upset  all  Sandy's 
preconceived  ideas. 

"  Now,  pork  ?  "  he  suggested,  but  with  less  assurance. 

But  Birdie  was  obdurate. 

"  Never,"  she  declared  emphatically.  "  Beans,  yes. 
There's  good  nourishment  in  beans.  Then  ther's  fresh  vege- 
tables —  heaps  of  'em." 

"  Ah !  Now,  how  'bout  fixin'  them  right  —  the  kids,  I 
mean  ?  Guess  they'll  need  bathin'." 

But  Birdie  fell  upon  him  with  a  strong  denial. 

"  Bath  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Gee !  you  do  run  on.  Guess  you 
want  to  hand  'em  newmony.  Kids  sure  don't  never  need 
bathin'.  Jest  a  lick  with  soap  an*  hot  water  once  a  week. 


172       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

An',  say,"  she  went  on,  suddenly  remembering  something 
she  had  told  Toby  in  a  fit  of  mischief,  "  kep  their  food  soft, 
or  you'll  break  their  young  teeth." 

Sandy's  eyes  lit,  and  in  an  unguarded  moment  he  admitted 
that  the  thought  had  occurred  to  him.  Birdie  caught  him 
up  at  once. 

"  I  tho't  you  was  just  astin'  me  these  questions  to  see  if  I 
was  right  for  gettin'  married  ?  "  she  protested  innocently. 

"  That's  so  —  course,"  he  said  hastily.  Then  he  wriggled 
out  of  it.  "  But  how'd  I  be  able  to  say  you  was  right  if  I 
hadn't  tho't  on  things  some  myself  ?  " 

"  Ah !     I  didn't  just  think  of  that." 

"  Course  not.  Gals  never  see  the  fine  points  of  good 
argyment." 

Sandy's  superiority  was  overwhelming,  but  Birdie  had 
borne  with  him  with  amused  patience  until  now.  She 
had  known  him  a  long  time  as  a  boarder,  but  never  until  now 
had  she  realized  the  blundering  conceit  that  was  his.  She 
felt  that  she  had  given  him  rope  enough,  and  it  was  time  to 
bring  him  up  with  a  jerk. 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  sir,"  she  mocked  him,  curtseying. 

"  You're  welcome,  ma'am,"  Sandy  returned,  with  a 
clumsy  bow,  failing  to  realize  her  change  of  attitude. 

"  If  you  guess  I'm  right  for  marryin',  maybe  you'll  hand 
me  my  diploma,"  she  said,  with  a  demure  down-drooping  of 
her  eyelids. 

She  waited,  and  finally  glanced  up  into  his  flushed  face. 
Her  sarcasm  had  struck  home  at  last,  and  without  hesitation 
she  went  on  mercilessly  — 

"  Say,  if  you  ain't  goin'  to  hand  me  a  diploma,  guess  you 
can  let  me  get  on  with  my  sewin'.  Havin'  been  a  married 
man,  maybe  you'll  understand  men-folk  ain't  a  heap  of  use 
around  when  a  woman's  sewin'.  Guess  they're  handy  ladlin' 
out  most  things,  but  I'd  say  a  man  ain't  no  more  use  round 
the  eye  of  a  needle  than  a  camel." 


BIRDIE  GIVES  MORE  ADVICE  173 

Sandy's  dignity  and  temper  were  ruffled.  It  was  incon- 
ceivable that  Birdie  —  or,  as  he  mentally  apostrophized  her, 
"  this  blamed  hash-slinger  " —  should  so  flout  him.  How 
dared  she?  He  was  so  angry  that  words  for  once  utterly 
failed  him,  and  he  moved  towards  the  door  with  gills  as  scar- 
let as  any  blustering  turkey-cock.  But  Birdie  had  no  idea 
of  sparing  him,  and  hurled  her  final  sarcasm  as  she  turned 
again  to  her  cupboard. 

"  I'd  hate  to  be  one  o'  Zip's  kids  with  you  gettin'  busy 
around  me,"  she  cried,  chuckling  in  an  infuriating  manner. 

It  was  too  much  for  Sandy.  He  turned  fiercely  as  he 
reached  the  door. 

"  You're  '  bug/  "  he  declared  roughly.  "  I  tell  you,  Zip's 
kids  ain't  nothin'  to  do  with  me  — " 

"  Which,  I'd  say,  was  lucky  for  them,"  cried  Birdie  airily. 

"  An'  I'd  jest  like  to  say  that  when  a  genelman  gits  around 
to  do  the  perlite  by  a  no-account  mutton-worrier,  he  figgers 
to  be  treat  right  — " 

Birdie  turned  on  him  with  cold  eyes. 

"  I'll  sure  be  treatin'  you  right,"  she  said,  "  when  I  tell  you 
that  door  don't  need  shuttin'  after  you.  It's  on  the  swing." 

She  did  not  wait  to  witness  her  guest's  departure.  She 
felt  it  would  not  be  graceful,  under  the  circumstances.  So, 
pushing  her  head  into  the  cupboard,  she  once  more  gathered 
up  her  work. 

When  the  soft  swish  of  the  swing-door  told  her  that 
Sandy's  departure  had  been  taken,  she  emerged  with  her 
bundle  and  spread  it  out  on  the  table  for  the  third  time. 
She  was  all  smiles.  She  was  not  a  bit  angry  with  the  foolish 
widower.  This  dogmatic  attitude  of  mind,  this  wonderful 
self-satisfaction,  were  peculiar  to  the  creature;  he  couldn't 
help  it.  But  it  had  roused  a  mischievous  spirit  in  her,  and 
the  temptation  was  too  great  to  resist.  The  only  thing  she 
regretted  was  having  let  him  kiss  her,  and  she  at  once  put 
up  her  hand  to  wipe  the  spot  where  the  operation  had  been 


174       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

performed.  At  any  rate,  she  had  certainly  taken  him 
down  a  peg  or  two,  and  the  thought  set  her  in  high  good- 
humor. 

Nor  could  she  help  wondering  at  his  stupidity  in  imagining 
she  couldn't  see  through  his  desire  for  information  about 
children.  It  was  laughable,  coming  after  Toby's.  Oh,  these 
men!  They  were  dear,  foolish  creatures.  Poor  kids,  she 
thought,  her  mind  reverting  to  Zip's  twins.  What  had  they 
done  to  have  this  pack  of  foolish  people  worrying  over 
them  ?  Were  they  all  going  to  take  a  hand  in  bringing  the 
youngsters  up  ?  Well,  anyhow,  she  pitied  them. 

She  smiled  at  her  thoughts  as  the  busy  scissors  snipped 
their  way  round  the  pattern.  These  men  were  too  funny. 
First  Toby,  now  Sandy  —  who  next  ? 

She  started  and  looked  up,  her  scissors  poised  in  the  air. 
The  swing-door  had  swished  open,  and  Wild  Bill  stood  be- 
fore her. 

"  Good  sakes !  "  she  cried.  "  How  you  scared  me !  " 
Then,  realizing  what  lay  before  her,  she  grabbed  up  her 
work,  and  was  for  returning  it  to  the  cupboard. 

But  Wild  Bill  was  in  a  hurry.  Besides,  he  had  nothing  of 
the  ingratiating  ways  of  the  other  men  about  him.  He  saw 
her  object,  and  stayed  her  in  his  own  peculiar  authoritative 
fashion. 

"  Say,  you  can  quit  huggin'  them  fixin's,"  he  cried.  "  I 
ain't  come  pry  in'  around  a  leddy's  wardrobe.  You  ken  jest 
set  down  with  paper  an'  ink  an'  things,  an*  write  down  how 
best  Zip's  kids  can  be  raised.  I'll  git  right  back  for  it  in 
ha'f-an-hour." 

Nor  did  he  wait  for  any  reply.  It  was  taken  for  granted 
that  his  demands  would  be  promptly  acceded  to,  and  he 
vanished  as  abruptly  as  he  came.  The  swing-door  closed, 
and  Birdie  gave  a  sigh. 

"  An'  him,  too,"  she  murmured.  "  Well,  I  do  declare.  It 
just  licks  creation." 


BIRDIE  GIVES  MORE  ADVICE  175 

But  this  was  a  different  proposition  to  either  Toby  or 
Sandy.  She  sprang  to  her  task  for  the  great  Wild  Bill  in  a 
way  that  spoke  volumes  for  her  sentimental  heart.  Wild 
Bill?  Well,  she  would  never  have  owned  it,  but  there  was 
just  one  man  in  the  world  that  scared  Birdie  to  death,  and  at 
the  same  time  made  her  think  her  path  was  a  bed  of  roses, 
and  that  was  Wild  Bill.  In  an  astonishingly  short  time  she 
was  sitting  at  the  table  poring  over  a  writing-pad,  and  biting 
the  already  well-chewed  end  of  a  pen. 

Outside,  in  the  smoke-laden  atmosphere  of  the  store, 
amidst  the  busy  click  of  poker  chips  and  clink  of  glasses, 
Wild  Bill  was  talking  earnestly  to  Minky,  who  was  standing 
behind  the  counter. 

They  had  been  talking  for  some  time.  Minky's  eyes  fre- 
quently wandered  in  the  direction  of  a  table  where  four 
strangers  were  playing.  But  no  one  could  have  guessed,  in 
his  quiet  scrutiny,  the  anxiety  that  lay  behind  it. 

"  You  must  git  out  to-night  ?  "  he  inquired  of  his  hawk- 
visaged  friend. 

"  Sure,"  responded  Bill  absently. 

"High  finance?" 

Bill  nodded,  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile. 

"  A  gang  of  rich  guys,"  he  said.  "  They're  gathering  at 
Spawn  City  for  a  financial  descent  on  Suffering  Creek. 
They're  all  minin'  folk.  Guess  they'll  be  yearning  for  a  big 
game." 

"When'll  you  git  back?" 

"  Noon,  day  after  to-morrow,  maybe." 

Bill  had  turned  away,  and  was  abstractedly  contemplating 
the  strangers.  Suddenly  he  turned  again,  and  his  steely  eyes 
fixed  themselves  on  the  troubled  Minky. 

"  Say,  things  is  gettin'  on  your  nerves.  It  ain't  yet. 
Those  folks  is  only  lookin'  fer  pointers." 

"An'findin"em?" 


i;6       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  Mebbe.  But  it  takes  time.  Say,  we  ain't  dead  in  Suf- 
fering Creek  yet.  I'll  be  around  before  — " 

"  Trouble  gits  busy."     Minky  laughed  hollowly. 

"  Sure.  I'm  most  gener'ly  around  when  trouble  —  gits 
busy.  I'm  made  like  that." 

"  I'm  glad." 

Bill  drank  up  the  remains  of  his  drink  and  began  to  move 
away. 

"  Wher'  you  going  now  ?  "  inquired  Minky. 

"  See  my  plugs  fed  an'  watered,  and  then  gittin'  around 
my  shack.  I've  got  to  see  some  folks  before  I  hit  the  trail. 
Say,  I  ain't  got  big  enough  wad.  Best  hand  me  a  couple  o' 
thousand." 

Minky  dived  under  his  counter,  and,  after  fumbling  for 
some  time,  reappeared  with  the  required  sum  in  United 
States  currency. 

"  Good  luck,"  he  said,  as  he  passed  it  across  the  counter 
cautiously. 

"  Thanks.  An',  say  —  see  the  boys  keep  a  close  eye  on 
Zip  —  an'  the  kids.  So  long." 

He  moved  away,  but  instead  of  passing  out  of  the  front 
door  he  disappeared  into  the  dining-room  at  the  back. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   TRUST  AT   WORK 

WILD  BILL'S  hut  presented  an  unusually  animated  appear- 
ance. The  customary  oil-lamp  was  receiving  the  support 
of  two  vilely  smelling  yellow  candles.  The  additional  light 
thus  obtained  was  hardly  in  proportion  to  the  ofTensiveness 
of  the  added  aroma.  Still,  the  remoter  corners  of  the  place 
were  further  lit  up,  and  the  rough  faces  of  the  four  occu- 
pants of  the  room  were  thrown  into  stronger  relief. 

But  the  animation  of  the  scene  was  rather  a  matter  of 
visual  illusion  than  actuality.  For  Wild  Bill,  in  his  right 
of  proprietorship,  was  lounging  on  his  blanketed  bunk,  while 
Toby's  inanimate  form  robbed  him  of  the  extreme  foot  of 
it.  Sunny  Oak  was  hugging  to  himself  what  comfort  there 
was  to  be  obtained  from  the  broken  chair,  which  usually 
supported  Bill's  wash  bucket,  set  well  within  elbow-reach 
of  the  table  on  which  the  illuminations  had  been  placed. 
Sandy  Joyce  with  unusual  humility  —  possibly  the  result  of 
his  encounter  with  Birdie  —  was  crouching  on  an  upturned 
cracker  box. 

There  was  a  wonderful  intentness,  expectancy  in  every 
eye  except  Bill's.  In  Toby's  there  was  triumphal  anticipa- 
tion, in  Sandy's  a  conscious  assurance.  Bill  had  just  come 
in  from  preparing  his  horses  for  their  night  journey,  and, 
with  an  hour  and  more  to  spare,  and  the  prospect  of  a  long 
night  before  him,  was  anxious  to  take  things  as  easy  as 
possible. 

Reaching  his  arms  above  his  head  he  pushed  his  hands 
behind  it  for  support,  and  opened  the  proceedings. 


178        THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  You  fellers  been  busy  ?  "  he  inquired. 

And  promptly  every  mouth  opened  to  give  proud  assur- 
ance. But  the  gambler  checked  the  impulse  with  grating 
sarcasm. 

"  I  ain't  got  but  one  pair  ears,"  he  said,  "  so  you'll  each 
wait  till  you're  ast  questions.  Bein'  president  o'  this  yer 
Trust  I'll  do  most  of  the  yappin',"  he  added  grimly.  "  I'm 
goin'  away  to-night  fer  a  couple  o'  days.  That's  why  this 
meetin's  called.  An'  the  object  of  it  is  to  fix  things  right 
for  Zip,  an'  to  'range  so  he  gits  a  chance  to  put  'em  through. 
Now,  I  seen  enough  of  him  —  an'  others,"  with  a  swift, 
withering  glance  in  Sunny's  direction,  "  to  know  he's  right 
up  again  a  proposition  that  ain't  no  one  man  affair.  Com- 
bination is  the  only  bluff  to  fix  them  kids  of  his  right. 
We've  most  of  us  got  ideas,  but  like  as  not  they  ain't  all 
we  guess  'em  to  be.  In  some  cases  ther'  ain't  a  doubt  of  it. 
Without  sayin'  nothin'  of  anybody,  I  sure  wouldn't  trust 
Toby  here  to  raise  a  crop  of  well-grown  weeds  —  without 
help.  An'  Sandy,  fer  all  he's  a  married  man,  don't  seem 
to  have  prospered  in  his  knowledge  of  kids.  As  for  Sunny, 
well,  the  sight  of  him  around  a  kid  ain't  wholesome.  An' 
as  fer  me,  guess  I  may  know  a  deal  about  cookin'  a  jack-pot, 
but  I'd  hate  to  raise  the  bet  about  any  other  kind  o'  pot. 
Seein'  things  is  that  way  with  us  we'll  git  to  work  systematic. 
Ther'  ain't  a  gamble  in  life  that  ain't  worked  the  better  fer 
a  system.  So,  before  we  get  busy,  I'll  ast  you,  Sunny,  to 
grab  the  grip  under  my  bunk,  an'  you'll  find  in  it,  som'eres 
under  the  card  decks,  paper  an'  ink.  You'll  jest  fix  them 
right,  an'  take  things  down,  so  we  don't  make  no  sort  o' 
mistake." 

He  waited  until  Sunny  had  procured  the  necessary  writing 
materials  and  set  them  out  on  the  table.  Then  he  went  on 
in  his  strong,  autocratic  fashion. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  fixing  his  eyes  on  Toby.  "  You'se  fel- 
lers has  had  time  to  make  inquiries,  an'  knowing  you  fer 


THE  TRUST  AT  WORK  179 

bright  boys  I  don't  guess  you  lost  any  time.  The  subject  is 
the  raisin'  of  kids.  Mebbe  Toby,  you  bein'  the  youngest 
member  of  this  doggone  Trust,  an'  a  real  smart  lad,  mebbe 
you'll  open  your  face  an'  give  us  pointers." 

By  the  time  he  finished  speaking  every  eye  was  turned 
on  the  triumphantly  grinning  Toby. 

"  I  sure  will,"  he  said,  with  a  confidence  surprising  in  a 
man  who  had  been  so  bashful  in  his  interview  with  Birdie. 
Just  for  a  moment  one  of  his  great  hands  went  up  to  his 
cheek,  and  he  gently  smoothed  it,  as  though  the  recollection 
of  the  slap  he  had  received  in  the  process  of  gathering  in- 
formation was  being  used  to  inspire  his  memory.  "  Y'see," 
he  began,  "  I  got  friends  around  Suffering  Creek  what  knows 
all  about  kids.  So  —  so  I  jest  asted  'em,  Mr.  President." 

He  cleared  his  throat  and  stared  up  at  the  roof.  He  was 
evidently  struggling  hard  with  memory. 

Bill  lolled  over  and  drew  a  closely  written  document  from 
his  pocket  and  began  to  peruse  it.  Sandy  tapped  the  floor 
impatiently  with  one  foot.  He  was  annoyed  that  his  evi- 
dence was  not  demanded  first.  Sunny  sat  with  pen  poised, 
waiting  for  the  word  to  write. 

Toby's  eyes  grew  troubled. 

"  What  they  chiefly  need,"  he  murmured,  his  face  becom- 
ing more  and  more  intent,  "  what  they  —  chiefly  —  need  — 
is—"  He  was  laboring  hard.  Then  suddenly  his  face 
brightened  into  a  foolish  smile.  "  I  got  it,"  he  cried  trium- 
phantly, "  I  got  it.  What  kids  need  is  beef  bones  an'  soap !  " 

In  the  deathly  silence  that  followed  his  statement  Toby 
looked  for  approving  glances.  But  he  looked  in  vain. 
Sunny  had  dropped  his  pen  and  made  a  blot  on  his  paper. 
Sandy's  annoyance  had  changed  into  malicious  triumph. 
But  the  president  of  the  Trust  made  no  move.  He  merely 
let  his  small  eyes  emit  a  steely  glance  over  the  top  of  his 
paper,  directed  with  stern  disapproval  on  the  hopeful  "  re- 
mittance "  man. 


i8o       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  An'  what  *  bug-house,' "  he  inquired,  with  biting  sar- 
casm, "  is  your  bright  friends  spendin'  their  va-cation  at  ?  " 

Toby  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  unkempt  hair.  The 
sudden  death  of  his  triumph  was  almost  tragic.  His  face 
fell,  and  his  heavy  jaw  dropped  in  pathetic  astonishment. 
But  it  was  not  Bill's  sarcasm  alone  that  so  bit  into  his  bones, 
it  was  the  jeering  light  he  witnessed  in  Sandy's  eyes,  com- 
bined with  the  undisguised  ridicule  of  Sunny's  open  grin. 
His  blood  began  to  rise ;  he  felt  it  tingling  in  the  great  ex- 
tremities of  his  long  arms.  The  obvious  retort  of  the  wit- 
less was  surging  through  his  veins  and  driving  him. 

But  the  Trust  president  was  talking,  and  the  calm  of 
coming  storm  was  held  for  a  moment.  But  it  is  doubtful  if 
the  object  of  his  harangue  grasped  anything  of  his  meaning, 
so  great  was  his  anger  against  his  grinning  comrades. 

"  Beef  bones  an'  soap !  "  cried  Bill  harshly,  at  the  unheed- 
ing man.  "  If  they  was  asses  bones  we'd  sure  only  need  to 
open  up  your  family  mausoleum  to  git  enough  bones  to 
raise  a  farm  o'  babbies  on.  I'd  like  to  say  right  here,  the 
feller  wot  don't  know  the  natural  use  o'  soap  is  a  danger 
to  the  health  an'  sanitary  fixin's  o'  this  yer  camp.  Beef 
bones  an'  soap ! "  he  went  on,  as  though  the  very  combina- 
tion of  the  words  was  an  offense  to  his  gastronomical  senses. 
"  You  pumpkin-faced  idjut,  you  mush-headed  tank  o'  wis- 
dom, you  masterpiece  of  under-done  mule  brain,  how  in 
sizzlin'  torment  you're  figgerin'  to  ladle  soap  into  the  vitals 
of  inoffendin'  babbies,  an'  push  beef  bones  through  their 
innercent  stummicks,  'ud  par'lize  the  brains  of  every  science 
society  in  this  yer  country  to  know,  an'  drive  the  whole  world 
o'  physic  dealers  barkin'  like  a  pack  o'  mangy  coyotes  wi' 
their  bellies  flappin'  in  a  nor'-east  blizzard.  Gosh  —  dang  it, 
you  misfortunate  offspring  of  Jonah  parents,  we're  settin' 
out  to  raise  kids.  We  ain't  startin'  a  patent  manure  fact'ry, 
nor  runnin'  a  Chinese  hand  laundry  — " 

But  the  president's  picturesque  flow  was  lost  in  a  sudden 


THE  TRUST  AT  WORK  181 

commotion.  The  calm  was  broken,  and  the  storm  burst. 
The  weight  of  ridicule  in  his  comrades'  faces  was  too  much 
for  Toby,  and  he  leapt  from  the  foot  of  the  bunk  on  which 
he  was  sitting.  He  projected  himself  with  more  force  than 
cunning  in  the  direction  of  the  grinning  loafer,  bent  on 
bodily  hurt  to  his  victim.  But  his  leap  fell  short  by  reason 
of  Sunny 's  agility.  The  latter  snatched  up  the  oil-lamp 
and  dodged  behind  the  table,  with  the  result  that  Toby's 
great  body  sent  the  candles  flying,  and  itself  fell  amidst  the 
legs  of  the  upset  table.  He  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant, 
however,  ready  to  continue  with  all  his  might  his  vengeful 
pursuit.  But  the  heavy  hand  of  Bill  fell  upon  his  coat  collar 
with  irresistible  force,  and,  with  a  jerk,  he  was  hurled  across 
the  room  out  of  harm's  way. 

"  Ther's  more  hell  to  the  back  o'  that  if  you  come  ag'in, 
Toby,"  the  gambler  cried,  with  cold  threat.  "  An'  as  for 
you,  Sunny/'  he  went  on,  turning  on  the  Trust  secretary, 
"  I'll  set  the  boys  to  wash  you  clean  in  Minky's  trough  if 
you  so  much  as  smile  ag'in  till  we're  through.  Fix  them 
candles,  an'  sit  right  down  —  the  lot  of  you." 

He  stood  for  a  moment  eyeing  the  lurid  face  of  Toby. 
Nor  did  he  move  until  the  burly  remittance  man  had  pulled 
himself  together.  He  watched  him  settle  himself  again  on 
the  foot  of  the  bunk,  passive  but  inwardly  raging.  Then, 
as  the  candles  were  once  more  replaced  in  the  bottles  and 
lit,  he  calmly  picked  up  his  document  and  returned  to  his 
couch.  The  whole  episode  passed  in  a  few  moments,  and 
outward  equanimity  was  quickly  restored.  Such  was  the 
hot,  impulsive  nature  of  these  men. 

The  president  lost  no  time  in  proceeding  with  the  business 
in  hand.  He  addressed  his  friends  generally. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  say  a  word  'bout  the  elegant  information 
gathered  by  our  bright  junior  member,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  You've  all  heard  it,  an'  I  guess  that's  sure  all  that's  needed. 
Wher'  he  got  it,  is  his  funeral  —  or  should  be.  Leastways, 


i82       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

if  it  ain't  satisfactory  it  shows  laudable  enterprise  on  his  part 
—  which  is  good  for  this  yer  Trust." 

He  paused  and  referred  to  his  document.  And  in  that 
moment,  burning  to  further  crush  Toby,  and  add  to  his  own 
glorification  by  reason  of  the  superiority  of  his  information, 
Sandy  cleared  his  throat  to  speak.  This  was  to  be  the  mo- 
ment of  his  triumph.  He  meant  to  wipe  out  the  memory 
of  past  failures  in  one  sweep. 

"  I  consulted  a  lady  friend  of  mine  — "  he  began.  But 
Bill  waved  him  to  silence. 

"  You  needn't  worry  nothin',''  he  said  coldly.  "  I  got  it 
all  wrote  down  here." 

"  How  you  got  it?  "  cried  Sandy.     "  I  ain't  said  it." 

Bill's  eyes  met  the  other's  angry  glance  with  that  cold 
irony  that  was  so  much  a  part  of  his  nature. 

"  Guess  your  leddy  friend  wrote  it,"  he  said.  And,  as  he 
heard  the  words,  the  last  of  Toby's  ill-humor  vanished.  His 
stupid  face  wreathed  itself  into  a  broad  grin  as  he  watched 
the  blank  look  of  disappointment  spread  itself  over  Sandy's 
face. 

"  Listen  here,  all  of  you,"  the  president  went  on,  quite 
undisturbed  by  the  feelings  he  had  stirred  in  the  widower. 
"  This  is  wot  the  leddy  says.  She's  writ  it  all  so  ther'  can't 
be  no  mistake." 

Then  he  began  to  read  from  his  document  with  careful 
distinctness.  * 

" l  Don't  take  no  notice  of  what  I  told  Toby  Jenks  an' 
Sandy  Joyce.  I  jest  fooled  'em  proper.  Toby's  a  nice  boy, 
but  he  ain't  got  brains  enough  to  kep  himself  warm  on  a 
summer  day,  so  I  didn't  waste  nothin'  on  him,  'cep'  time. 
As  fer  Sandy,  he's  sech  a  con-se-quenshul — '  Have  I 
got  that  word  right,  Sunny?"  Bill  inquired  blandly  of  the 
secretary. 

"  You  sure  have,"  grinned  Sunny,  enjoying  himself. 

"  *  Sech  a  consequenshul  fool  of  an  idjut  man/  "  Bill  read 


THE  TRUST  AT  WORK  183 

on,  with  a  glance  into  Sandy's  scarlet  face,  "  '  that  I  hadn't 
no  time  but  to  push  him  out  of  this  dinin'-room.' ' 

"  The  miser'ble  hash-slinger,"  exploded  the  exasperated 
Sandy,  springing  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  blazing  with  impotent 
fury. 

"  Sit  down,"  commanded  the  president.  "  This  yere  is  a 
proper  meetin'  of  the  Zip  Trust,  an'  don't  call  fer  no  lang- 
widge  ag'in  a  defenseless  woman." 

"  Then  she  ain't  no  right  to  say  things,"  cried  the  outraged 
man. 

"  She  ain't.  She's  wrote  'em,"  retorted  Bill,  in  a  manner 
that  left  nothing  more  to  be  said.  "  '  Consequenshul,'  was 
the  word,"  he  went  on,  rolling  it  off  his  tongue  as  though 
he  enjoyed  its  flavor,  "  an'  I  allow  it  must  have  took  her 
thinking  some  to  be  so  elegant.  You'll  set,"  he  added, 
glancing  up  severely  at  the  still  standing  man. 

Sandy  dropped  back  on  his  box,  but  he  was  anything  but 
appeased.  His  dignity  was  hurt  sorely.  He,  who  under- 
stood women  so  well,  to  be  treated  like  this.  Then  he  tried 
to  console  himself  with  the  opinion  that  after  all  Birdie  was 
not  exactly  a  woman,  only  a  "  pot-rustler."  But  Bill  was 
pushing  the  business  forward.  He  wanted  to  get  the  matter 
in  hand  settled. 

"  Here,"  he  went  on,  "  this  is  how  she  says  of  them  kids : 
'  You  can't  jest  lay  down  reflations  fer  feedin'.  Jest  feed 
'em  natural,  an'  if  they  git  a  pain  dose  'em  with  physic. 
Ther's  some  things  you  must  kep  'em  from  gittin'  into  their 
stummicks.  Kindlin'  wood  is  ridiculous  fer  them  to  chew, 
ther'  ain't  no  goodness  in  it,  an'  it's  li'ble  to  run  slivvers  into 
their  vitals.  Sulphur  matches  ain't  good  fer  'em  to  suck. 
I  ain't  got  nothing  to  say  'bout  the  sulphur,  but  the  phos- 
pherus  is  sure  injurious,  an',  anyway,  it's  easy  settin'  'em- 
selves  afire.  Kids  is  ter'ble  fond  of  sand,  an'  gravel,  an' 
mud,  inside  an'  out.  Outside  ain't  no  harm,  'cep'  it  keps  you 
washin'  'em,  but  inside's  likely  to  give  'em  colic.  Don't  let 


184       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

'em  climb  on  tables  an'  things.  Ther'  never  was  a  kid  who 
could  climb  on  to  a  table  but  what  could  fall  off.  Don't 
let  'em  lick  stove-black  off  a  hot  cookstove.  This  don't  need 
explainin'  to  folk  of  ordinary  intelligence.  Coal  is  for 
makin'  a  fire,  an'  ain't  good  eatin'.  Boilin'  water  has  its 
uses,  but  it  ain't  good  play  fer  kids.  Guns  an'  knives  ain't 
needed  fer  kids  play  in'  Injun.  These  things  is  jest  general 
notions  to  kep  in  your  head  fer  ord'nary  guidance.  Kids' 
clothes  needs  wash  in'  every  Monday  —  with  soap.  Mebbe 
you'll  need  to  wash  every  day  if  kids  is  frolicsome.  Bow- 
ties  is  for  Sunday  wear.  Girl's  hair  needs  braidin'  every 
night,  an'  don't  leave  chewin'  t'baccer  around.  Kids  is  sure 
to  eat  it.  Best  give  'em  physic  every  Saturday  night,  an' 
bath  'em  Sunday  mornin'.  Don't  use  no  hand  scrubber.  If 
you  can't  git  through  the  dirt  by  ord'nary  washin',  best  leave 
it.  Kids  is  tender-skinned  anyway.  After  their  bath  set 
'em  out  in  the  sun,  an'  give  'em  an  elegant  Bible  talk.  Ther' 
ain't  nothin'  like  a  Bible  talk  fer  kids.  It  sets  'em  wise  to 
religion  early,  an'  gives  'em  a  good  impression  o'  the  folks 
raisin'  'em.  Ef  they  ast  too  many  questions  you  need  to 
answer  'em  with  discretion  — '  " 

"  Wot's  she  mean  by  that  ?  "  asked  Toby,  all  interest  in 
the  mass  of  detail. 

"  Mean  ?     Why  — "     Bill  paused  considering. 

Sunny  looked  up  from  his  writing. 

"  Why,  don't  say  fool  things  fer  the  sake  of  gassin' !  "  he 
explained  readily.  "  Everything  you  tell  'em  needs  a  moral." 

"  Moral  ?  "  murmured  Toby  vaguely. 

"  Yes,  moral." 

But  Sandy  saw  a  chance  of  restoring  his  fallen  prestige, 
and  promptly  seized  upon  it. 

"  Moral,"  he  said,  beaming  with  self-satisfaction,  "  is 
handin'  a  lesson  all  wrop  up  in  fancy  words  so's  to  set  folks 
cussin'  like  mad  they  can't  understand  it,  an'  hatin'  them- 
selves when  they're  told  its  meanin'.  Now,  if  I  was  goin' 


THE  TRUST  AT  WORK  185 

to  show  you  what  a  blamed  id  jut  you  was  without  jest 
sayiir  so — " 

"  Shut  up !  "  cried  Bill.  And  without  waiting  for  a  reply 
he  read  on,  "' — with  discretion.  If  you  treat  kids  proper 
they  mostly  raise  themselves,  which  is  jest  Natur'.  Don't 
worry  yourself,  'less  they  fall  into  a  swill-barrel,  or  do 
some  ridiculous  stunt  o'  that  natur' —  an'  don't  worry  them. 
Ther'  ain't  no  sense  to  anybody  goin'  around  with  notions 
they  ken  flap  their  wings,  an'  cluck  like  a  broody  hen;  an' 
scratchin'  worms  is  positive  ridiculous.  Help  'em  when  they 
need  help,  otherwise  let  'em  fall  around  till  they  knock  sense 
into  theirselves.  Jest  let  'em  be  kids  as  long  as  Natur'  fan- 
cies, so's  when  they  git  growed  up,  which  they're  goin'  to 
do  anyways,  they'll  likely  make  elegant  men  an*  women. 
Ef  you  set  'em  under  glass  cases  they'll  sure  get  fixed  into 
things  what  glass  cases  is  made  to  hold  —  that's  images.  I 
don't  guess  I  kin  tell  you  nothin'  more  'bout  kids,  seein'  I 
ain't  a  mother,  but  jest  a  pot-wolloper.'  " 

Bill  folded  the  paper  as  he  finished  reading,  and  silently 
handed  it  across  to  the  secretary.  Somehow  he  seemed 
impressed  with  the  information  the  paper  contained.  The 
whole  meeting  seemed  impressed.  Even  Sandy  had  no 
comment  to  offer,  while  Toby  resorted  to  biting  his  fore- 
finger and  gazing  stupidly  at  the  opposite  wall.  It  was 
Sunny  who  finally  broke  the  silence. 

"  Guess  I'll  jest  writ'  out  the  chief  points  fer  Zip's  guid- 
ance ?  "  he  asked. 

Bill  nodded. 

"'That's  it,  sure,"  he  agreed.  "Jest  the  chief  points. 
Then  you'll  hand  it  to  Zip  to-morrer  mornin',  an',  ef  he 
needs  it,  you  can  explain  wot  he  ain't  wise  to.  I'd  like  to 
say  right  here  that  this  hash-slinger  has  got  savvee.  Great 
big  savvee,  an*  a  heap  of  it.  I  ain't  a  hell  of  a  lot  on  the  kid 
racket,  they  mostly  make  me  sick  to  death.  In  a  manner  o' 
speakin',  I  don't  care  a  cuss  for  Zip  nor  his  kids.  Ef  they 


i86       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

drown  theirselves  in  a  swill-bar'l  it's  his  funeral,  an'  their 
luck,  an'  it  don't  cut  no  ice  with  me.  But,  cuss  me,  ef  I 
ken  stand  to  see  a  low-down  skunk  like  this  yer  James  come 
it  over  a  feller-citizen  o'  Suffering  Creek,  an'  it's  our  duty  to 
see  Zip  gits  thro'.  I'm  sore  on  James.  Sore  as  hell.  I  ain't 
no  Bible-thumpin',  mush-hearted,  push-me-amongst-the- 
angels  feller  anyways.  An'  you  boys  has  got  to  git  right 
on  to  that,  quick."  He  glared  round  at  his  friends  defiantly, 
as  though  daring  them  to  do  otherwise.  But  as  nobody  gave 
a  sign  of  doubt  on  the  subject,  he  had  no  alternative  but  to 
continue.  "  I'm  jest  sore  on  James  an' — "  He  hesitated 
for  the  fraction  of  a  second,  but  went  on  almost  immediately. 
" — ther'  may  come  a  time  when  the  play  gits  busy.  Get 
me?  Wai/'  as  Sandy  and  Sunny  nodded  assent,  and  Toby 
sat  all  eyes  for  the  speaker,  "  this  yere  Trust  is  a  goin'  con- 
cern, an',  I  take  it,  we  mean  business.  So,  though  we  ain't 
runnin'  a  noospaper,  maybe  we'll  need  a  fightin'  editor  after 
all.  If  we  need  a  fightin'  editor  we'll  sure  need  a  fightin' 
staff.  That's  jest  logic.  I'll  ast  you  right  here,  is  you  boys 
that  fightin'  staff  ?  If  so,  guess  I'm  fightin'  editor.  How  ?  " 

His  eyes  were  on  Sunny  Oak.  And  that  individual's 
unwashed  face  broadened  into  a  cheerful  grin. 

"  Fightin'  don't  come  under  the  headin'  of  work  — 
proper,"  he  said.  "  Guess  I'm  in." 

Bill  turned  on  Sandy. 

"  You  ain't  got  the  modest  beauty  o'  the  vi'let,"  he  said, 
with  saturnine  levity.  "  How  you  f eelin'  ?  " 

"  Sure  good,"  exclaimed  the  widower.  "  But  I'd  feel 
better  lettin'  air  into  the  carkis  of  James." 

"  Good,"  muttered  Bill.  "  An'  you,  Toby  ?  "  he  went  on, 
turning  on  the  "  remittance  "  man.  "  You're  a  heap  fat,  an' 
need  somethin'  to  get  it  down.  How  you  fancy  things  ?  " 

"  I'd  as  lief  scrap  'side  these  scalliwags  as  ag'in  'em,"  he 
replied,  indicating  his  companions  with  an  amiable  grin. 

Bill  nodded. 


THE  TRUST  AT  WORK  187 

"  This  yere  Trust  is  a  proper  an'  well-found  enterprise," 
he  said  gravely.  "  As  f  er  Minky,  I  guess  we  can  count  him 
in  most  anything  that  ain't  dishonest.  So  —  wal,  this  is  jest 
precautions.  Ther's  nuthin'  doin'  yet.  But  you  see,"  he 
added,  with  a  shadowy  grin,  "  life's  mostly  chock-full  of 
fancy  things  we  don't  rigger  on,  an'  anyway  I  can't  set 
around  easy  when  folks  gets  gay.  I'll  be  back  to  hum  day 
after  to-morrer,  or  the  next  day,  an',  meanwhiles,  you'll  see 
things  are  right  with  Zip.  An'  don't  kep  far  away  from 
Minky's  store  when  strangers  is  around.  Minky's  a  good 
friend  o'  mine,  an'  a  good  friend  to  most  o'  you,  so  —  well, 
guns  is  good  med'cine  ef  folks  git  gay,  an'  are  yearnin'  to 
handle  dust  what  ain't  theirs." 

"  Them  strangers  ?  "  suggested  Sandy.     "  Is  —  ?  " 

Bill  shrugged. 

"  Strangers  is  strangers,  an'  gold-dust  is  gold-dust,"  he 
said  shrewdly.  "  An'  when  the  two  git  together  ther's 
gener'ly  a  disease  sets  in  that  guns  is  the  best  med'cine  for. 
That's  'bout  all." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ZIP'S   GRATITUDE 

WHAT  a  complicated  machinery  human  nature  is!  It 
seems  absurd  that  a  strongly  defined  character  should  be  just 
as  full  of  surprises  as  the  weakest;  that  the  fantastic,  the 
unexpected,  even  the  illogical,  are  as  surely  found  in  the  one 
as  in  the  other.  It  would  be  so  nice,  so  simple  and  easy,  to 
sit  down  and  foreshadow  a  certain  course  of  action  for  a 
certain  individual  under  a  given  stress ;  and  to  be  sure  that, 
in  human  psychology,  two  and  two  make  precisely  four,  no 
more  and  no  less. 

But  such  is  not  the  case.  In  human  psychology  two  and 
two  can  just  as  easily  make  ten,  or  fifteen,  or  any  other 
number;  and  prophecy  in  the  matter  is  about  as  great  a 
waste  of  time  as  worrying  over  the  possibilities  of  the 
weather.  The  constitution  of  the  nervous  system  cannot  be 
estimated  until  put  to  the  test.  And  when  the  first  test  has 
revealed  to  us  the  long-awaited  secret,  it  is  just  as  likely  to  be 
flatly  contradicted  by  the  second.  The  whole  thing  is  the 
very  mischief. 

Those  who  knew  him  would  have  been  quite  certain  that 
in  Scipio's  case  there  could  only  be  one  result  from  the 
addition  of  the  two  and  two  of  his  psychology.  In  a  man 
of  his  peculiar  mental  caliber  it  might  well  seem  that  there 
could  be  no  variation  to  the  sum.  And  the  resulting  proph- 
ecy would  necessarily  be  an  evil,  or  at  least  a  pessimistic  one. 
He  was  so  helpless,  so  lacking  in  all  the  practicalities  of 
human  life.  He  seemed  to  have  one  little  focus  that  was 
quite  incapable  of  expansion,  of  adaptability.  That  focus 


ZIP'S  GRATITUDE  189 

was  almost  entirely  filled  by  his  Jessie's  image,  with  just  a 
small  place  in  it  reserved  for  his  twins.  Take  the  woman 
out  of  it,  and,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  he  looked  out  upon 
a  dead  white  blank. 

Every  thought  in  his  inadequate  brain  was  centered  round 
his  wife.  She  was  the  mainspring  of  his  every  emotion. 
His  love  for  her  was  his  whole  being.  It  was  something  so 
great  and  strong  that  it  enveloped  all  his  senses.  She  was 
his,  and  he  was  incapable  of  imagining  life  without  her. 
She  was  his,  and  only  death  could  alter  so  obvious  a  fact. 
She  was  his  vanguard  in  life's  battle,  a  support  that  shored 
up  his  confidence  and  courage  to  face,  with  a  calm  determi- 
nation, whatever  that  battle  had  to  offer  him. 

But  with  Jessie's  going  all  prophecy  would  have  remained 
unfulfilled.  Scipio  did  not  go  under  in  the  manner  to  have 
been  expected  of  him.  After  the  first  shock,  outwardly  at 
least,  there  appeared  to  be  no  change  in  him.  His  apparently 
colorless  personality  drifted  on  in  precisely  the  same  amia- 
ble, inconsequent  manner.  What  his  moments  of  solitude 
were,  only  he  knew.  The  agony  of  grief  through  which  he 
passed,  the  long  sleepless  nights,  the  heartbreaking  sense  of 
loss,  these  things  lay  hidden  under  his  meaningless  exterior, 
which,  however,  defied  the  revelation  of  his  secret. 

After  the  passing  of  the  first  madness  which  had  sent  him 
headlong  in  pursuit  of  his  wife,  a  sort  of  mental  evolution  set 
in.  That  unadaptable  focus  of  his  promptly  became  adapt- 
able. And  where  it  had  been  incapable  of  expansion,  it 
slowly  began  to  expand.  It  grew,  and,  whereas  before  his 
Jessie  had  occupied  full  place,  his  twins  now  became  the 
central  feature. 

The  original  position  was  largely  reversed,  but  it  was 
chiefly  the  growth  of  the  images  of  his  children,  and  not  the 
diminishing  of  the  figure  of  his  wife.  And  with  this  new 
aspect  came  calmness.  Nothing  could  change  his  great  love 
for  his  erring  Jessie,  nothing  could  wipe  out  his  sense  of 


190       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

loss ;  his  grief  was  always  with  him.  But  whereas,  judged 
by  the  outward  seeming  of  his  character,  he  should  have  been 
crushed  under  Fate's  cruel  blow,  an  inverse  process  seemed 
to  have  set  in.  He  was  lifted,  exalted  to  the  almost  sublime 
heights  where  his  beacon-fire  of  duty  shone. 

Yes,  but  the  whole  thing  was  so  absurdly  twisted.  The 
care  of  his  children  occupied  his  entire  time  now,  so  that  his 
work,  in  seeking  that  which  was  required  to  support  them, 
had  to  be  entirely  neglected.  He  had  fifty  dollars  between 
him  and  starvation  for  his  children.  Nor  could  he  see  his 
way  to  earning  more.  The  struggles  of  his  unpractical  mind 
were  painful.  It  was  a  problem  quite  beyond  him.  He 
struggled  nobly  with  it,  but  he  saw  no  light  ahead,  and,  with 
that  curious  singleness  of  purpose  that  was  his,  he  eventually 
abandoned  the  riddle,  and  devoted  his  whole  thought  to  the 
children.  Any  other  man  would  probably  have  decided  to 
hire  himself  out  to  work  on  the  claims  of  other  men,  and  so 
hope  to  earn  sufficient  to  hire  help  in  the  care  of  the  twins, 
but  not  so  Scipio.  He  believed  that  their  future  well-being 
lay  in  his  claim.  If  that  could  not  be  worked,  then  there 
was  no  other  way. 

He  had  just  finished  clearing  up  his  hut,  and  the  twins 
were  busy  with  their  games  outside  in  the  sun,  aided  by  their 
four-legged  yellow  companion,  whose  voice  was  always  to  be 
heard  above  their  excited  squabblings  and  laughter.  So 
Sunny  Oak  found  things  when  he  slouched  up  to  the  hut  with 
the  result  of  the  Trust's  overnight  meeting  in  his  pocket. 

The  loafer  came  in  with  a  grin  of  good-nature  on  his 
perspiring  and  dirty  face.  He  was  feeling  very  self-right- 
eous. It  was  pleasant  to  think  he  was  doing  a  good  work. 
So  much  so  that  the  effort  of  doing  it  did  not  draw  the  usual 
protest  from  him. 

He  glanced  about  him  with  a  tolerant  eye,  feeling  that 
henceforth,  under  the  guidance  of  the  Trust  he  represented, 
Scipio's  condition  would  certainly  be  improved.  But  some- 


ZIP'S  GRATITUDE  191 

how  his  mental  patronage  received  a  quiet  set-back.  The 
hut  looked  so  different.  There  was  a  wholesome  cleanliness 
about  it  that  was  quite  staggering.  Sunny  remembered  it  as 
it  was  when  he  had  last  seen  it  under  his  regime,  and  the 
contrast  was  quite  startling.  Scipio  might  be  incapable  .of 
organization,  but  he  certainly  could  scour  and  scrub. 

Sunny  raked  at  his  beard  with  his  unclean  finger-nails. 
Yes,  Zip  must  have  spent  hours  of  unremitting  labor  on  the 
place  since  he  had  seen  it  last. 

However,  he  lost  no  time  in  carrying  out  his  mission. 

"  Kind  o'  busy,  Zip?  "  he  greeted  the  little  man  pleasantly. 

Scipio  raised  a  pair  of  shadowed  eyes  from  the  inside  of 
the  well-scoured  fry-pan  he  was  wiping. 

"  I'm  mostly  through  fixin'  these  chores  —  for  awhiles," 
he  replied  quietly.  Then  he  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the 
children's  voices.  "  Guess  I'm  goin'  to  take  the  kiddies  down 
to  the  creek  to  clean  'em.  They  need  cleanin'  a  heap." 

Sunny  nodded  gravely.  He  was  thinking  of  those  things 
he  had  so  carefully  written  out. 

"  They  sure  do,"  he  agreed.  "  Bath  oncet  a  week.  But 
not  use  a  hand-scrubber,  though,"  he  added,  under  a  wave  of 
memory.  "  Kids  is  tender  skinned,"  he  explained. 

"  Pore  little  bits,"  the  father  murmured  tenderly.  Then 
he  went  on  more  directly  to  his  visitor.  "  But  they  do  need 
washin'.  It's  kind  o'  natural  fer  kids  to  fancy  dirt.  After 
that,"  he  went  on,  his  eyes  drifting  over  to  a  pile  of  dirty 
clothes  stacked  on  a  chair,  "  I'll  sure  have  to  do  a  bit  of 
washing."  He  set  the  frying-pan  down  beside  the  stove  and 
moved  over  to  the  clothes,  picking  up  the  smallest  pair  of 
child's  knickers  imaginable.  They  were  black  with  dirt,  and 
he  held  them  up  before  Sunny's  wondering  eyes  and  smiled 
pathetically.  "  Ridic'lous  small,"  he  said,  with  an  odd  twist 
of  his  pale  lips.  "  Pore  little  gal."  Then  his  scanty  eye- 
brows drew  together  perplexedly,  and  that  curious  expres- 
sion of  helplessness  that  was  his  crept  into  his  eyes.  "  Them 


192       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

frills  an'  bits  git  me  some,"  he  said  in  a  puzzled  way. 
"  Y'see,  I  ain't  never  used  an  iron  much,  to  speak  of.  It's 
kind  of  awkward  using  an  iron." 

Sunny  nodded.  Somehow  he  wished  he  knew  something 
about  using  an  iron.  Birdie  had  said  nothing  about  it. 

"  Guess  you  hot  it  on  the  stove,"  he  hazarded,  after  a 
moment's  thought. 

"  Yes,  I'd  say  you  hot  it,"  agreed  Scipio.  "  It's  after 
that." 

"  Yes/'  Sunny  found  himself  thinking  hard.  "  You 
got  an  iron?  "  he  inquired  presently. 

"  Sure  —  two."  Scipio  laid  the  knickers  aside.  "  You 
hot  one  while  you  use  the  other." 

Sunny  nodded  again. 

"  You  see,"  the  other  went  on,  considering,  "  these  pretties 
needs  washin'  first.  Well,  then  I  guess  they  need  to  dry. 
Now,  'bout  starch?  'Most  everything  needs  starch.  At 
least,  ther'  always  seems  to  be  starch  around  washing-time. 
Y'see,  I  ain't  wise  to  starch." 

"  Blamed  if  I  am  either,"  agreed  Sunny.  Then  his  more 
practical  mind  asserted  itself.  "  Say,  starch  kind  o'  fixes 
things  hard,  don't  it  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  It  sure  does." 

Scipio  was  trying  to  follow  out  his  companion's  train  of 
thought. 

Sunny  suddenly  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and 
grinned  triumphantly. 

"  Don't  use  it,"  he  cried,  with  finality.  "  You  need  to 
remember  kiddies  is  tender  skinned,  anyway.  Starch'll 
sure  make  'em  sore." 

Scipio  brightened. 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  agreed,  with  relief.  "  I  didn't  jest  think 
about  that.  I'm  a  heap  obliged,  Sunny.  You  always  seem 
to  help  me  out." 

The  flush  of  pleasure  which  responded  to  the  little  man's 


ZIP'S  GRATITUDE  193 

tribute  was  quite  distinguishable  through  the  dirt  on  the 
loafer's  face. 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  he  said  embarrassedly.  "  It's  easy, 
two  thinkin'  together.  'Sides,  I've  tho't  a  heap  'bout  things 
since  —  since  I  started  to  fix  your  kiddies  right.  Y'see,  it 
ain't  easy." 

"  No,  it  just  ain't.  That  is,  y'see,  I  ain't  grumbling," 
Scipio  went  on  hurriedly,  lest  his  meaning  should  be  mis- 
taken. "  If  you're  stuck  on  kiddies,  like  me,  it  don't  worry 
you  nuthin'.  Kind  of  makes  it  pleasant  thinkin'  how  you 
can  fix  things  f er  'em,  don't  it  ?  But  it  sure  ain't  easy  doing 
things  just  right.  That's  how  I  mean.  An*  don't  it  make 
you  feel  good  when  you  do  fix  things  right  f  er  'em  ?  But  I 
don't  guess  that  comes  often,  though,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh. 
"  Y'see,  I'm  kind  of  awkward.  I  ain't  smart,  like  you  or 
Bill." 

"  Oh,  Bill's  real  smart,"  Sunny  began.  Then  he  checked 
himself.  He  was  to  keep  Bill's  name  out  of  this  matter,  and 
he  just  remembered  it  in  time.  So  he  veered  round  quickly. 
"  But  I  ain't  smart,"  he  declared.  "  Anything  I  know  I  got 
from  a  leddy  friend.  Y'see,  women-folk  knows  a  heap  'bout 
kiddies,  which,  I  'lows,  is  kind  o'  natural." 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  several  sheets  of 
paper.  Arranging  them  carefully,  he  scanned  the  scrawling 
writing  on  them. 

"  Guess  you're  a  scholar,  so  I  won't  need  to  read  what  I 
writ  down  here.  Mebbe  you'll  be  able  to  read  it  yourself. 
I  sure  'low  the  spellin'  ain't  jest  right,  but  you'll  likely  under- 
stand it.  Y'see,  the  writin's  clear,  which  is  the  chief  thing. 
I  was  allus  smart  with  a  pen.  Now,  this  yer  is  jest  how  our 
—  my  —  leddy  f rien'  reckons  kids  needs  fixin'.  It  ain't  rea- 
sonable to  guess  everything's  down  ther*.  They're  jest  sort 
o'  principles  which  you  need  to  foller.  Maybe  they'll  help 
you  some.  Guess  if  you  foller  them  reflations  your  kids'll 
sure  grow  proper." 


194       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

He  handed  the  papers  across,  and  Scipio  took  them  only 
too  willingly.  His  thanks,  his  delight,  was  in  the  sudden 
lighting  up  of  his  whole  face.  But  he  did  not  offer  a  ver- 
bal expression  of  his  feelings  until  he  had  read  down  the 
first  page.  Then  he  looked  up  with  eyes  that  were  almost 
moist  with  gratitude. 

"  Say,"  he  began, l(  I  can't  never  tell  you  how  'bliged  I  am, 
Sunny.  These  things  have  bothered  me  a  whole  heap.  It's 
kind  of  you,  Sunny,  it  is,  sure.  I'm  that  obliged  I  — " 

"Say,"  broke  in  the  loafer,  "that  sort  o'  talk  sort  o' 
worrits  my  brain.  Cut  it  out/'  Then  he  grinned.  "  Y'see, 
I  ain't  used  to  thinkin'  hard.  It's  mostly  in  the  natur'  o' 
work,  an' —  well,  work  an'  me  ain't  been  friends  for  years." 

But  Scipio  was  devouring  the  elaborated  information 
Sunny  had  so  laboriously  set  out.  The  loafer's  picturesque 
mind  had  drawn  heavily  on  its  resources,  and  Birdie's  princi- 
ples had  undergone  a  queer  metamorphosis.  So  much  so, 
that  she  would  now  have  had  difficulty  in  recognizing  them. 
Sunny  watched  him  reading  with  smiling  interest.  He  was 
looking  for  those  lights  and  shades  which  he  hoped  his  illu- 
minating phraseology  would  inspire.  But  Scipio  was  in 
deadly  earnest.  Phraseology  meant  nothing  to  him.  It  was 
the  guidance  he  was  looking  for  and  devouring  hungrily. 
At  last  he  looked  up,  his  pale  eyes  glowing. 

"  That's  fine,"  he  exclaimed,  with  such  a  wonderful  relief 
that  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  his  appreciation.  Then  he 
glanced  round  the  room.  He  found  some  pins  and  promptly 
pinned  the  sheets  on  the  cupboard  door.  Then  he  stood 
back  and  surveyed  them.  "  You're  a  good  friend,  Sunny," 
he  said  earnestly.  "  Now  I  can't  never  make  a  mistake. 
There  it  is  all  wrote  ther'.  An'  when  I  ain't  sure  'bout  noth- 
ing, why,  I  only  jest  got  to  read  what  you  wrote.  I  don't 
guess  the  kiddies  can  reach  them  there.  Y'see,  kiddies  is 
queer  'bout  things.  Likely  they'd  get  busy  tearing  those 
sheets  right  up,  an'  then  wher'd  I  be  ?  I'll  start  right  in  now 


ZIP'S  GRATITUDE  195 

on  those  regulations,  an'  you'll  see  how  proper  the  kiddies  '11 
grow."  He  turned  and  held  out  his  hand  to  his  benefactor. 
"  I'm  'bliged,  Sunny ;  I  sure  can't  never  thank  you  enough." 
Sunny  disclaimed  such  a  profusion  of  gratitude,  but  his 
dirty  face  shone  with  good-natured  satisfaction  as  he  gripped 
the  little  man's  hand.  And  after  discussing  a  few  details 
and  offering  a  few  suggestions,  which,  since  the  acceptance 
of  his  efforts,  seemed  to  trip  off  his  tongue  with  an  easy  con- 
fidence which  surprised  even  himself,  he  took  his  departure. 
And  he  left  the  hut  with  the  final  picture  of  Scipio,  still 
studying  his  pages  of  regulations  with  the  earnestness  of  a 
divinity  student  studying  his  Bible,  filling  his  strongly  imag- 
inative brain.  He  felt  good.  He  felt  so  good  that  he  was 
sorry  there  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  until  Wild  Bill's 
return. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

JESSIE'S  LETTER 

SCIPIO'S  long  day  was  almost  over.  The  twins  were  in 
bed,  and  the  little  man  was  lounging  for  a  few  idle  moments 
in  the  doorway  of  his  hut.  Just  now  an  armistice  in  his 
conflict  of  thought  was  declared.  For  the  moment  the 
exigencies  of  his  immediate  duties  left  him  floundering  in 
the  wilderness  of  his  desolate  heart  at  the  mercy  of  the  pain 
of  memory.  All  day  the  claims  of  his  children  had  up- 
borne him.  He  had  had  little  enough  time  to  think  of  any- 
thing else,  and  thus,  with  his  peculiar  sense  of  duty  militat- 
ing in  his  favor,  he  had  found  strong  support  for  the  burden 
of  his  grief. 

But  now  with  thought  and  muscles  relaxed,  and  the  long 
night  stretching  out  its  black  wings  before  him,  the  gray 
shadow  had  risen  uppermost  in  his  mind  once  more,  and  a 
weight  of  unutterable  loneliness  and  depression  bore  down 
his  spirit. 

His  faded  eyes  were  staring  out  at  the  dazzling  reflections 
of  the  setting  sun  upon  the  silvery  crests  of  the  distant 
mountain  peaks.  In  every  direction  upon  the  horizon 
stretched  the  wonderful  fire  of  sunset.  Tongues  of  flame, 
steely,  glowing,  ruddy,  shot  up  and  athwart  the  picture  in 
ever-changing  hues  before  his  unseeing  eyes.  It  was  all 
lost  upon  him.  He  stared  mechanically,  while  his  busy  brain 
struggled  amongst  a  tangle  of  memories  and  thought  pic- 
tures. The  shadows  of  his  misfortune  were  hard  besetting 
him. 

Amidst  his  other  troubles  had  come  a  fresh  realization 


JESSIE'S  LETTER  197 

which  filled  him  with  something  like  panic.  He  had  been 
forced  to  purchase  stores  for  his  household.  To  do  so  he 
had  had  to  pay  out  the  last  of  his  fourth  ten-dollar  bill.  His 
exchequer  was  thus  reduced  to  ten  dollars.  Ten  dollars 
stood  between  him  and  starvation  for  his  children.  Nor 
could  he  see  the  smallest  prospect  of  obtaining  more.  His 
imagination  was  stirred.  He  saw  in  fancy  the  specter  of 
starvation  looming,  hungrily  stretching  out  its  gaunt  arms, 
clutching  at  his  two  helpless  infants.  He  had  no  thought 
for  himself.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he,  too,  must 
starve.  He  only  pictured  the  wasting  of  the  children's 
round  little  bodies,  he  heard  their  weakly  whimperings  at  the 
ravages  of  hunger's  pangs.  He  saw  the  tottering  gait  as 
they  moved  about,  unconscious  of  the  trouble  that  was  theirs, 
only  knowing  that  they  were  hungry.  Their  requests  for 
food  rang  in  his  ears,  maddening  him  with  the  knowledge  of 
his  helplessness.  He  saw  them  growing  weaker  day  by  day. 
He  saw  their  wondering,  wistful,  uncomprehending  eyes,  so 
bright  and  beautiful  now,  growing  bigger  and  bigger  as  their 
soft  cheeks  fell  away.  He  — 

He  moved  nervously.  He  shifted  his  position,  vainly  try- 
ing to  rid  himself  of  the  haunting  vision.  But  panic  was 
upon  him.  Starvation  —  that  was  it.  Starvation !  God  ! 
how  terrible  was  the  thought.  Starvation!  And  yet,  be- 
fore—  before  Jessie  had  gone  he  had  been  no  better  off. 
He  had  had  only  fifty  dollars.  But  somehow  it  was  all 
different  then.  She  was  there,  and  he  had  had  confidence. 
Now  —  now  he  had  none.  Then  she  was  there  to  manage, 
and  he  was  free  to  work  upon  his  claim. 

Ah,  his  claim.  That  was  it.  The  claim  lay  idle  now 
with  all  its  hidden  wealth.  How  he  wanted  that  wealth 
which  he  so  believed  to  be  there.  No,  he  could  not  work 
his  claim.  The  children  could  not  be  left  alone  all  day. 
That  was  out  of  the  question.  They  must  be  cared  for. 
How  —  how  ? 


198       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

His  brain  grew  hot,  and  he  broke  out  into  a  sweat.  His 
head  drooped  forward  until  his  unshaven  chin  rested  upon 
his  sunken  chest.  His  eyes  were  lusterless,  his  two  rough 
hands  clenched  nervously.  Just  for  one  weak  moment  he 
longed  for  forgetfulness.  He  longed  to  shut  out  those 
hideous  visions  with  which  he  was  pursued.  He  longed  for 
peace,  for  rest  from  the  dull  aching  of  his  poor  torn  heart. 
His  courage  was  at  a  low  ebb.  Something  of  the  nature  of 
the  hour  had  got  hold  of  him.  It  was  sundown.  There  was 
the  long  black  night  between  him  and  the  morrow.  He  felt 
so  helpless,  so  utterly  incapable. 

But  his  moment  passed.  He  raised  his  head.  He  stood 
erect  from  the  door  casing.  He  planted  his  feet  firmly,  and 
his  teeth  gritted.  The  spirit  of  the  man  rose  again.  He 
must  not  give  way.  He  would  not.  The  children  should 
not  starve  while  there  was  food  in  the  world.  If  he  had 
no  money,  he  had  two  strong  hands  and  — 

He  started.  A  sudden  noise  behind  him  turned  him  fac- 
ing about  with  bristling  nerves.  What  was  it  ?  It  sounded 
like  the  falling  of  a  heavy  weight.  And  yet  it  did  not  sound 
like  anything  big.  The  room  was  quite  still,  and  looked,  in 
the  growing  dusk,  just  the  same  as  usual. 

Suddenly  the  children  leapt  into  his  thought,  and  he 
started  for  the  inner  room.  But  he  drew  up  short  as  he 
passed  behind  the  table.  A  large  stone  was  lying  at  his  feet, 
and  a  folded  paper  was  tied  about  it.  He  glanced  round  at 
the  window  and  —  understood. 

He  stooped  and  picked  the  missile  up.  Then  he  moved 
to  the  window  and  looked  out.  There  was  no  one  about. 
The  evening  shadows  were  rapidly  deepening,  but  he  was 
sure  there  was  no  one  about.  He  turned  back  to  the  door 
where  there  was  still  sufficient  light  for  his  purposes.  He 
sat  down  upon  the  sill  with  the  stone  in  his  hand.  He  was 
staring  at  the  folded  paper. 

Yes,  he  understood.     And  instinctively  he  knew  that  the 


JESSIE'S  LETTER  199 

paper  was  to  bring  him  fresh  disaster.  He  knew  it  was  a 
letter.  And  he  knew  whence  it  came. 

At  last  he  looked  up.  The  mystery  of  the  letter  remained. 
It  was  there  in  his  hand,  waiting  the  severing  of  the  string 
that  held  it,  but  somehow  as  yet  he  lacked  the  courage  to 
read  it.  And  so  some  moments  passed.  But  at  last  he 
sighed  and  looked  at  it  again.  Then  he  reached  round  to  his 
hip  for  his  sheath-knife.  The  stone  dropped  to  the  ground, 
and  with  it  the  outer  covering  of  the  letter.  With  trembling 
fingers  he  unfolded  the  notepaper. 

Yes,  it  was  as  he  expected,  as  he  knew,  a  letter  from 
Jessie.  And  as  he  read  it  his  heart  cried  out,  and  the  warm 
blood  in  his  veins  seemed  to  turn  to  water.  He  longed  for 
the  woman  whose  hand  had  penned  those  words  as  he  had 
never  longed  for  anything  in  his  life.  All  the  old  wound 
was  ruthlessly  torn  open,  and  it  was  as  though  a  hot,  searing 
iron  had  been  thrust  into  its  midst.  He  cared  nothing  for 
what  she  had  done  or  was.  He  wanted  her. 

It  was  a  letter  full  of  pathetic  pleading  for  the  possession 
of  Vada.  It  was  not  a  demand.  It  was  an  appeal.  An 
appeal  to  all  that  was  his  better  nature.  His  honesty,  his 
manliness,  his  simple  unselfishness.  It  was  a  letter  thrilling 
with  the  outpourings  of  a  mother's  heart  craving  for  posses- 
sion of  the  small  warm  life  that  she  had  been  at  such  pains 
to  bestow.  It  was  the  mother  talking  to  him  as  he  had 
never  heard  the  wife  and  woman  talk.  There  was  a  passion, 
a  mother  love  in  the  hastily  scrawled  words  that  drove 
straight  to  the  man's  simple  heart.  One  little  paragraph 
alone  set  his  whole  body  quivering  with  responsive  emotion, 
and  started  the  weak  tears  to  his  troubled  eyes. 

"  Let  me  have  her,  Zip.  Let  me  have  her.  Maybe  I've 
lost  my  right,  but  I'm  her  mother.  I  brought  her  into  the 
world,  Zip.  And  what  that  means  you  can  never  under- 
stand. She's  my  flesh  and  blood.  She's  part  of  me.  I 


200       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

gave  her  the  life  she's  got.     I'm  her  mother,  Zip,  and  I'll  go 
mad  without  her." 

He  read  and  re-read  the  letter.  He  would  have  read  it  a 
third  time,  but  the  tears  blinded  his  eyes  and  he  crushed  it 
into  his  pocket.  His  heart  yearned  for  her.  It  cried  out 
to  him  in  a  great  pity.  It  tore  him  so  that  he  was  drawn 
to  words  spoken  aloud  to  express  his  feelings. 

"  Poor  gal/'  he  murmured.  "  Poor  gal.  Oh,  my  Jessie, 
what  you  done  —  what  you  done  ?  " 

He  dashed  a  hand  across  his  eyes  to  wipe  away  the  mist 
of  tears  that  obscured  his  vision  and  stood  up.  He  was  face 
to  face  with  a  situation  that  might  well  have  confounded 
him.  But  here,  where  only  his  heart  and  not  his  head  was 
appealed  to,  there  was  no  confusion. 

The  woman  had  said  he  could  not  understand.  She  had 
referred  to  her  motherhood.  But  Scipio  was  a  man  who 
could  understand  just  that.  He  could  understand  with  his 
heart,  where  his  head  might  have  failed  him.  He  read  into 
the  distracted  woman's  letter  a  meaning  that  perhaps  no 
other  man  could  have  read  into  it.  He  read  a  human  soul's 
agony  at  the  severing  of  itself  from  all  that  belonged  to  its 
spiritual  side.  He  read  more  than  the  loss  of  the  woman's 
offspring.  He  read  the  despairing  thought,  perhaps  uncon- 
scious, of  a  woman  upon  whom  repentance  has  begun  its 
work.  And  his  simple  heart  went  out  to  her,  yearning,  lov- 
ing. He  knew  that  her  appeal  was  granted  even  before  he 
acknowledged  it  to  himself. 

And  strangely  enough  the  coming  of  that  letter  —  he  did 
not  pause  to  think  how  it  had  come  —  produced  a  miraculous 
change  in  him.  His  spirit  rose  thrilling  with  hope,  and 
filled  with  a  courage  which,  but  a  few  moments  before, 
seemed  to  have  gone  from  him  forever.  He  did  not  under- 
stand, he  did  not  pause  to  think.  How  could  he?  To  him 
she  was  still  his  Jessie,  the  love  and  hope  of  his  life.  It  was 


JESSIE'S  LETTER  201 

her  hand  that  had  penned  that  letter.     It  was  her  woman's 
heart  appealing  to  his  mercy. 

"  God  in  heaven,"  he  cried,  appealing  to  the  blue  vault 
above  him  in  which  the  stars  were  beginning  to  appear.  "  I 
can't  refuse  her.  I  just  can't.  She  wants  her  so  —  my 
poor,  poor  Jessie." 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  Scipio  returned  from  the 
camp  driving  Minky's  buckskin  mule  and  ancient  buckboard. 
His  mind  was  made  up.  He  would  start  out  directly  after 
breakfast  on  the  morrow.  He  had  resorted  to  a  pitiful 
little  subterfuge  in  borrowing  Minky's  buckboard.  He  had 
told  the  storekeeper  that  he  had  heard  of  a  prospect  some 
distance  out,  and  he  wanted  to  inspect  it.  He  said  he  in- 
tended to  take  Vada  with  him,  but  wished  to  leave  Jamie  be- 
hind. Minky,  as  a  member  of  the  Trust,  had  promptly  lent 
him  the  conveyance,  and  volunteered  to  have  Jamie  looked 
after  down  at  the  store  by  Birdie  until  he  returned.  So 
everything  was  made  easy  for  him,  and  he  came  back  to  his 
home  beyond  the  dumps  with  the  first  feeling  of  contentment 
he  had  experienced  since  his  wife  had  deserted  him. 

Having  made  the  old  mule  snug  for  the  night  on  the  lee- 
ward side  of  the  house,  he  prepared  to  go  to  bed.  There 
was  just  one  remaining  duty  to  perform,  however,  before  he 
was  free  to  do  so.  He  must  set  things  ready  for  breakfast 
on  the  morrow.  To  this  end  he  lit  the  lamp. 

In  five  minutes  his  preparations  were  made,  and,  after 
one  final  look  round,  he  passed  over  to  the  door  to  secure 
it.  He  stood  for  a  moment  drinking  in  the  cool  night  air. 
Yes,  he  felt  happier  than  he  had  done  for  days.  Nor  could 
he  have  said  why.  It  was  surely  something  to  do  with 
Jessie's  letter,  and  yet  the  letter  seemed  to  offer  little 
enough  for  hope. 

He  was  going  to  part  with  Vada,  a  thought  which  filled 
him  with  dismay,  and  yet  there  was  hope  in  his  heart.  But 


202       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

then  where  the  head  might  easily  enough  fail  his  heart  had 
accepted  responsibility.  There  was  a  note  in  the  woman's 
appeal  which  struck  a  responsive  chord  in  his  own  credulous 
heart,  and  somehow  he  felt  that  his  parting  with  Vada  was 
not  to  be  for  long.  He  felt  that  Jessie  would  eventually 
come  back  to  him.  He  felt,  though  he  did  not  put  the 
thought  into  words,  that  no  woman  could  feel  as  she  did 
about  her  children,  and  be  utterly  dead  to  all  the  old  affection 
that  had  brought  them  into  the  world. 

He  turned  away  at  last.  The  air  was  good  to  breathe  to- 
night, the  world  was  good  after  all.  Yes,  it  was  better  than 
he  had  thought  it.  There  was  much  to  be  done  to-morrow, 
so  he  would  "  turn  in." 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  something  white  lying  at  his 
feet  caught  his  eye.  Instantly  he  remembered  it,  and,  stoop- 
ing, picked  it  up.  How  strange  it  was  the  difference  of  his 
feelings  as  he  lifted  the  outer  wrapping  of  Jessie's  letter  now. 
There  was  something  almost  reverent  in  the  way  he  handled 
the  paper. 

He  closed  the  door  and  secured  it,  and  went  across  to  the 
lamp,  where  he  stood  looking  down  at  the  stained  and  dirty 
covering.  He  turned  it  over,  his  thoughts  abstracted 
and  busy  with  the  woman  who  had  folded  it  ready  for 
its  journey  to  him.  Yes,  she  had  folded  it,  she  had  sent  it, 
she  — 

Suddenly  his  abstraction  passed,  and  he  bent  over  the  dis- 
figuring finger-marks.  There  was  writing  upon  the  paper, 
and  the  writing  was  not  in  Jessie's  hand.  He  raised  it  closer 
to  his  eyes  and  began  to  read.  And,  with  each  word  he 
made  out,  his  faculties  became  more  and  more  angrily 
concentrated. 

"  You'll  hand  the  kid  over  at  once.  I'll  be  on  the  Spawn 
City  trail  ten  miles  out.  If  you  ain't  there  with  the  kid  noon 
to-morrow  there's  going  to  be  bad  trouble.  JAMES/' 


JESSIE'S  LETTER  203 

"  James !  James ! "  Scipio  almost  gasped  the  name. 
His  pale  eyes  were  hot  and  furious,  and  the  blood  surged  to 
his  brain. 

He  had  forgotten  James  until  now.  He  had  forgotten 
the  traitor  responsible  for  his  undoing.  So  much  was  Jessie 
in  his  life  that  James  had  counted  for  little  when  he  thought 
of  her.  But  now  the  scoundrel  swept  all  other  thoughts 
pell-mell  out  of  his  head.  He  was  suddenly  ablaze  with  a 
rage  such  as  he  had  never  before  experienced.  All  that  was 
human  in  him  was  in  a  state  of  fierce  resentment.  He  hated 
James,  and  desired  with  all  his  small  might  to  do  him  a  bodily 
hurt.  Yes,  he  could  even  delight  in  killing  him.  He  would 
show  him  no  mercy.  He  would  revel  in  witnessing  his  death 
agonies.  This  man  had  not  only  wronged  him.  He  had 
killed  also  the  spiritual  purity  of  the  mother  of  his  children. 
Oh,  how  he  hated  him.  And  now  —  now  he  had  dared  to 
threaten.  He,  stained  to  his  very  heart's  core  with  villainy, 
had  dared  to  interfere  in  a  matter  which  concerned  a 
mother's  pure  love  for  her  children.  The  thought  mad- 
dened him,  and  he  crushed  the  paper  in  his  hand  and  ground 
it  under  his  heel. 

He  would  not  do  it.  He  could  not.  He  had  forgotten 
the  association  to  which  he  was  sending  the  innocent  Vada. 
No,  no.  Innocent  little  Vada.  Jessie  must  do  without  her. 

He  flung  himself  into  a  chair  and  gave  himself  up  to 
passionate  thought.  For  two  hours  he  sat  there  raging,  half 
mad  with  his  hideous  feelings  against  James.  But  as  the 
long  hours  slipped  away  he  slowly  calmed.  His  hatred  re- 
mained for  the  man,  but  he  kept  it  out  of  his  silent  struggle 
with  himself.  In  spite  of  his  first  heated  decision  he  was 
torn  by  a  guiding  instinct  that  left  him  faltering.  He  real- 
ized that  his  hatred  of  the  man,  and  nothing  else,  was  really 
responsible  for  his  negative  attitude.  And  this  was  surely 
wrong.  What  he  must  really  consider  was  the  welfare  of 
Vada,  and  —  Jessie.  The  whole  thing  was  so  difficult,  so 


204       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

utterly  beyond  him.  He  was  drawn  this  way  and  that, 
struggling  with  a  brain  that  he  knew  to  be  incompetent. 
But  in  the  end  it  was  again  his  heart  that  was  victorious. 
Again  his  heart  would  take  no  denial. 

Confused,  weary,  utterly  at  a  loss  to  finally  decide,  he 
drew  out  Jessie's  letter  again.  He  read  it.  And  like  a  cloud 
his  confusion  dispersed  and  his  mind  became  clear.  His 
hatred  of  James  was  thrust  once  more  into  the  background. 
Jessie's  salvation  depended  on  Vada's  going.  Vada  must  go. 

He  sighed  as  he  rose  from  his  chair  and  blew  out  the 
lamp. 

"  Maybe  I'm  wrong,"  he  murmured,  passing  into  the  bed- 
room. "  Maybe.  Well,  I  guess  God'll  have  to  judge  me, 
and  —  He  knows." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ON   THE   ROAD 

WILD  BILL  had  many  things  to  think  of  on  his  way  back 
to  Suffering  Creek.  He  was  a  tremendously  alert-minded 
man  at  all  times,  so  alert-minded  that  at  no  time  was  he  given 
to  vain  imaginings,  and  to  be  alone  for  long  together  chafed 
and  irritated  him  to  a  degree.  His  life  was  something  more 
than  practicality;  it  was  vigor  in  an  extreme  sense.  He 
must  be  doing;  he  must  be  going  ahead.  And  it  mattered 
very  little  to  him  whether  he  was  using  vigor  of  mind  or 
body.  Just  now  he  was  using  the  former  to  a  purpose. 
Possibilities  and  scheming  flashed  through  his  head  in  such 
swift  succession  as  to  be  enough  to  dazzle  a  man  of  lesser 
mental  caliber. 

The  expressed  object  of  his  visit  to  Spawn  City  was  only 
one  of  several  purposes  he  had  in  hand.  And  though  he 
turned  up  at  the  principal  hotel  at  the  psychological  moment 
when  he  could  drop  into  the  big  game  of  poker  he  had  prom- 
ised himself,  and  though  at  that  game  he  helped  himself, 
with  all  the  calm  amiability  in  the  world,  to  several  thousand 
dollars  of  the  "  rich  guys'  "  money,  the  rest  of  his  visit  to  the 
silver  city  was  spent  in  moving  about  amongst  the  lower 
haunts  where  congregated  the  human  jackals  which  hunt  on 
the  outskirts  of  such  places. 

And  in  these  places  he  met  many  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances with  whom  he  fraternized  for  the  time  being.  And 
his  sojourn  cost  him  a  good  many  dollars,  dollars  which  he 
shed  unstintingly,  even  without  counting.  Nor  was  he  the 
man  to  part  with  his  money  in  this  casual  manner  without 


206       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

obtaining  adequate  return,  and  yet  all  he  had  to  show  as  a 
result  of  his  expedition  was  a  word  of  information  here  and 
there,  a  suggestion  or  two  which  would  scarcely  have  re- 
vealed to  the  ousider  the  interest  which  they  held  for  him. 
Yet  he  seemed  satisfied.  He  seemed  very  well  satisfied 
indeed,  and  his  reckless  spirit  warmed  as  he  progressed  in 
his  peregrinations. 

Then,  too,  he  "  dined  "  the  sheriff  of  the  county  at  the 
only  restaurant  worth  while.  He  spent  more  than  two  hours 
in  this  man's  company,  and  his  wine  bill  was  in  due  propor- 
tion to  the  hardy  official's  almost  unlimited  capacity  for 
liquid  refreshment.  Yet  even  to  the  most  interested  his 
purpose  would  have  needed  much  explanation.  He  asked 
so  few  questions.  He  seemed  to  lead  the  conversation  in 
no  particular  direction.  He  simply  allowed  talk  to  drift 
whither  it  would.  And  somehow  it  always  seemed  to  drift 
whither  he  most  desired  it. 

Yes,  his  movements  were  quite  curious  during  his  visit, 
and  yet  they  were  commonplace  enough  to  suggest  nothing 
of  the  depth  of  subtlety  which  really  actuated  them.  There 
was  even  an  absurd  moment  which  found  him  in  a  candy- 
store  purchasing  several  pounds  of  the  most  sickly  candy  he 
could  buy  in  so  rough  a  place  as  the  new  silver  town. 

However,  the  time  came  for  him  at  last  to  get  out  on  the 
road  again  for  home.  And,  having  prepared  his  team  for 
the  journey,  he  hitched  them  up  to  his  spring-cart  himself, 
paid  his  bill,  and,  with  a  flourish  of  his  whip,  and  a  swagger 
which  only  a  team  of  six  such  magnificent  horses  as  he  pos- 
sessed could  give  him,  left  the  hotel  at  a  gallop,  the  steely 
muscles  of  his  arms  controlling  his  fiery  children  as  easily  as 
the  harsh  voice  of  a  northern  half-breed  controls  a  racing 
dog-train. 

And  on  the  journey  home  his  thoughts  were  never  idle  for 
a  moment.  So  busy  were  they  that  the  delicious  calm  of  the 
night,  the  wonders  of  the  following  dawn,  the  glory  of  a 


ON  THE  ROAD  207 

magnificent  sunrise  over  a  green  world  of  mountain,  valley 
and  plain,  were  quite  lost  to  his  unpoetic  soul.  The  only 
things  which  seemed  able  to  distract  his  concentrated 
thoughts  were  the  fiercely  buzzing  mosquitoes,  and  these  he 
cursed  with  whole-hearted  enthusiasm  which  embraced  a 
perfect  vocabulary  of  lurid  blasphemy. 

Twice  on  the  journey  he  halted  and  unhitched  his  horses 
for  feed  and  drink  and  a  roll.  But  the  delays  were  short, 
and  his  vigorous  methods  gave  them  but  short  respite.  He 
cared  for  his  equine  friends  with  all  his  might,  and  he  drove 
them  in  a  similar  manner.  This  was  the  man.  A  life  on  a 
bed  of  roses  would  not  have  been  too  good  for  his  horses, 
but  if  he  so  needed  it  they  would  have  to  repay  him  by  driv- 
ing over  a  red-hot  trail. 

Now  the  home  stretch  lay  before  him,  some  twenty  miles 
through  a  wonderful  broken  country,  all  spruce  and  pine 
forests,  crag  and  valley,  threaded  by  a  white  hard  trail  which 
wound  its  way  amidst  Nature's  chaos  in  a  manner  similar 
to  that  in  which  a  mountain  stream  cuts  its  course,  percolat- 
ing along  the  path  of  the  least  resistance. 

Through  this  splendid  country  the  untiring  team  traveled, 
hauling  their  feather-weight  burden  as  though  there  was 
nothing  more  joyous  in  life.  In  spite  of  the  length  of  the 
journey  the  gambler  had  to  keep  a  tight  pressure  on  the  reins, 
or  the  willing  beasts  would,  at  any  moment,  have  broken  into 
a  headlong  gallop.  Their  barn  lay  ahead  of  them,  and  their 
master  sat  behind  them.  What  more  could  they  want  ? 

Up  a  sharp  incline,  and  the  race  down  the  corresponding 
decline.  The  wide  stretch  of  valley  bottom,  and  again  a 
steep  ascent.  There  was  no  slackening  of  gait,  scarcely  a 
hard  breath.  Only  the  gush  of  eager  nostrils  in  the  bright 
morning  air  of  the  mountains.  Now  along  a  forest-bounded 
stretch  of  level  trail,  winding,  and  full  of  protruding  tree- 
stumps  and  roots.  There  was  no  stumbling.  The  sure- 
footed thoroughbreds  cleared  each  obstruction  with  mechan- 


208       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

ical  precision,  and  only  the  spring-cart  bore  the  burden  of 
impact. 

On,  up  out  of  the  darkened  valley  to  a  higher  level  above, 
where  the  high  hills  sloped  away  upwards,  admitting  the 
dazzling  daylight  so  that  the  whole  scene  was  lit  to  a  perfect 
radiance,  and  the  nip  of  mountain  air  filled  the  lungs  with 
an  invigorating  tonic. 

At  last  the  traveler  dropped  down  into  the  wide  valley,  in 
the  midst  of  which  he  first  came  into  touch  with  the  higher 
reaches  of  Suffering  Creek.  Here  it  flowed  a  sluggish,  tur- 
gid stream,  so  sullen,  so  heavy.  It  was  narrow,  and  at  points 
curiously  black  in  tone.  There  was  none  of  the  freshness, 
the  rushing,  tumultuous  flow  of  a  mountain  torrent  about  it 
here.  Its  banks  were  marshy  with  a  wide  spread  of  oozy 
soil,  and  miry  reeds  grew  in  abundance.  The  trail  cut  well 
away  from  the  bed  of  the  creek,  mounting  the  higher  land 
where  the  soil,  in  curious  contrast,  was  sandy,  and  the  sur- 
face deep  in  a  silvery  dust.  To  an  observer  the  curiosity  of 
the  contrast  must  have  been  striking,  but  Wild  Bill  was  not 
in  an  observant  mood.  He  was  busy  with  his  horses  —  and 
his  thoughts. 

He  was  traveling  now  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  And  it  was 
this,  no  doubt,  which  accounted  for  the  fact  that  he  did  not 
see  a  buckboard  drawn  by  an  aged  mule  until  he  heard  a 
shout,  and  his  horses  swung  off  the  trail  of  their  own  accord. 
Quick  as  lightning  he  drew  them  up  with  a  violent  curse. 

"What  in  hell  —  !"  he  roared.  But  he  broke  off  sud- 
denly as  the  dust  began  to  clear,  and  he  saw  the  yellow- 
headed  figure  of  Scipio  seated  in  the  buckboard,  with  Vada 
beside  him,  just  abreast  of  him. 

"  Mackinaw !  "  he  cried.     "  What  you  doin'  out  here  ?  " 

So  startled  was  the  gambler  at  the  unexpected  vision  that 
he  made  no  attempt  to  even  guess  at  Scipio's  purpose.  He 
put  his  question  without  another  thought  behind  it. 

Scipio,  whose  mule  had  jumped  at  the  opportunity  of  dis- 


ON  THE  ROAD  209 

continuing  its  laborious  effort,  and  was  already  reaching  out 
at  the  grass  lining  the  trail,  passed  a  hand  across  his  brow 
before  answering.  It  was  as  though  he  were  trying  to  fix 
in  his  mind  the  reason  of  his  own  presence  there. 

"  Why,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "  why,  I'm  out  after  a  —  a 
prospect  I  heard  of.  Want  to  get  a  peek  at  it." 

The  latter  was  said  with  more  assurance,  and  he  smiled 
vaguely  into  his  friend's  face. 

But  Bill  had  gathered  his  scattered  wits,  and  had  had  time 
to  think.  He  nodded  at  little  Vada,  who  was  interestedly 
staring  at  the  satin  coats  of  his  horses. 

"An'  you  takin'  her  out  to  help  you  locate  it?"  he  in- 
quired, with  a  raising  of  his  shaggy  brows. 

"  Not  just  that,"  Scipio  responded  uncomfortably.  He 
found  it  curiously  difficult  to  lie  with  Bill's  steady  eyes  fixed 
on  him.  "  Y'see  —  Say,  am  I  near  ten  miles  out  from 
the  camp  ?  " 

"  Not  by  three  miles."  Bill  was  watching  him  intently. 
He  saw  the  pale  eyes  turn  away  and  glance  half  fearfully 
along  the  trail.  Then  they  suddenly  came  back,  and  Scipio 
gazed  at  the  child  beside  him.  He  sighed  and  lifted  his 
reins. 

"  Guess  I'll  get  on  then,"  he  said  in  the  dogged  tone  of  a 
man  who  has  made  up  his  mind  to  an  unpleasant  task. 

But  Bill  had  no  intention  of  letting  him  go  yet.  He 
sat  back  in  his  seat,  his  hand  holding  his  reins  loosely  in 
his  lap. 

:f  That  wher'  your  prospect  is  ?  "  he  inquired  casually. 

Scipio  nodded.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  frame  any 
further  aggravation  of  the  lie. 

"Wher'  did  you  hear  of  the  prospect?"  Bill  demanded 
shrewdly. 

«  T  » 

But  little  Vada  broke  in.  Her  interest  had  been  diverted 
by  the  word  prospect. 


2io       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  Wot's  '  prospect '  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Bill  laughed  without  any  change  of  expression. 

"  Prospect  is  wher'  you  expect  to  find  gold,"  he  explained 
carefully. 

The  child's  eyes  widened,  and  she  was  about  to  speak. 
Then  she  hesitated,  but  finally  she  proceeded. 

"  That  ain't  wot  we're  goin'  for,"  she  said  simply. 
"  Poppa's  goin'  to  take  me  wher'  momma  is.  I'm  goin'  to 
momma,  an'  she's  ever  so  far  away.  Pop  told  me.  Jamie's 
goin'  to  stay  with  him, 'an'  I'm  goin'  to  stay  with  momma, 
an' — an' — I  want  Jamie  to  come  too."  Tears  suddenly 
crowded  her  eyes,  and  slowly  rolled  down  her  sunburned 
cheeks. 

Just  for  a  moment  neither  man  spoke.  Bill's  fierce  eyes 
were  curiously  alight,  and  they  were  sternly  fixed  on  the 
averted  face  of  the  father.  At  last  Scipio  turned  towards 
him ;  and  with  his  first  words  he  showed  his  relief  that  fur- 
ther lying  was  out  of  the  question. 

"  I  forgot  —  somehow  —  she  knew.     Y'see  — " 

But  Bill,  who  had  just  bitten  off  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco, 
gave  him  no  chance  to  continue. 

"  Say,"  he  interrupted  him,  "  ther's  lies  I  hate,  an'  ther's 
lies  that  don't  make  no  odds.  You've  lied  in  a  way  I  hate. 
You've  lied  'cos  you  had  to  lie,  knowin'  you  was  doin'  wrong. 
If  you  hadn't  know'd  you  was  doin'  wrong  you  wouldn't 
have  needed  to  lie  —  sure.  Say,  you're  not  only  hanclin'' 
over  that  kiddie  to  her  mother,  you're  handin'  her  over  to 
that  feller.  Now,  get  to  it  an'  tell  me  things.  An' — you 
needn't  to  lie  any." 

Scipio  hung  his  head.  These  words  coming  from  Wild 
Bill  suddenly  put  an  entirely  different  aspect  upon  his  action. 
He  saw  something  of  the  horror  he  was  committing  as  Bill 
saw  it.  He  was  seeing  through  another  man's  eyes  now, 
where  before  he  had  only  seen  through  his  own  simple  heart, 
torn  by  the  emotions  his  Jessie's  letter  had  inspired. 


ON  THE  ROAD  211 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  his  wife's  letter. 
He  looked  at  it,  holding  it  a  moment,  his  whole  heart  in 
his  eyes.  Then  he  reached  out  and  passed  it  to  the 
gambler. 

"  She's  got  to  have  her,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  his  native 
obstinacy  and  conviction.  "  She's  her  mother.  I  haven't  a 
right  to  keep  her.  I  — " 

But  Bill  silenced  him  without  ceremony. 

"  Don't  yap,"  he  cried.  "  How  ken  I  read  this  yer  muck 
with  you  throwin'  hot  air  ?  " 

Scipio  desisted,  and  sat  staring  vacantly  at  the  long  ears 
of  Minky's  mule.  He  was  gazing  on  a  mental  picture  o£ 
Jessie  as  he  considered  she  must  have  looked  when  writing 
that  letter.  He  saw  her  distress  in  her  beautiful  eyes. 
There  were  probably  tears  in  her  eyes,  too,  and  the  thought 
hurt  him  and  made  him  shrink  from  it.  He  felt  that  her  poor 
heart  must  have  been  breaking  when  she  had  written.  Per- 
haps James  had  been  cruel  to  her.  Yes,  he  was  sure  to  have 
been  cruel  to  her.  Such  a  blackguard  as  he  was  sure  to  be 
cruel  to  women- folk.  No  doubt  she  was  longing  to  escape 
from  him.  She  was  sure  to  be.  She  would  never  have  will- 
ingly gone  away  — 

"  Tosh !  "  cried  Bill.  And  Scipio  found  the  letter  thrust 
out  for  him  to  take  back. 

"Eh?" 

"  I  said  '  tosh ! '  "  replied  the  gambler.  "  How'd  you  get 
that  letter?" 

"  It  was  flung  in  through  the  window.  It  was  tied  to  a 
stone." 

"Yes?" 

"  There  was  a  wrappin*  to  it."  Then  Scipio's  eyes  began 
to  sparkle  at  the  recollection.  "It  was  wrote  on  by  the 
feller  James,"  he  went  on  in  a  low  voice. 

Then  suddenly  he  turned,  and  his  whole  manner  partook 
of  an  impotent  heat. 


212       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  He'd  wrote  I  was  to  hand  her,  Vada,  over  to  him  ten 
miles  out  on  this  trail  —  or  there'd  be  trouble." 

Wild  Bill  stirred  and  shifted  his  seat  with  a  fierce  dash  of 
irritation.  His  face  was  stern  and  his  black  eyes  blazing. 
He  spat  out  his  chew  of  tobacco. 

"An*  you  was  scared  to  death,  like  some  silly  skippin' 
sheep.  You  hadn't  bowel  enough  to  tell  him  to  go  to  hell. 
You  felt  like  handin'  him  any  other  old  thing  you'd  got  — 
'  Here,  go  on,  help  yourself.' "  He  flung  out  his  arms  to 
illustrate  his  meaning.  " '  You  got  my  wife ;  here's  my 
kiddies.  If  you  need  anything  else,  you  can  sure  get  my 
claim.  Guess  my  shack'll  make  you  an  elegant  summer 
palace.'  Gee ! " 

The  gambler's  scorn  was  withering,  and  with  each  burst 
of  it  he  flourished  his  arms  as  though  handing  out  posses- 
sions to  an  imaginary  James.  And  every  word  he  spoke 
smote  Scipio,  goading  him  and  lashing  up  the  hatred  which 
burnt  deep  down  in  his  heart  for  the  man  who  had  ruined 
his  life. 

But  the  little  man's  thought  of  Jessie  was  not  so  easily  set 
aside,  and  he  jumped  to  defend  himself. 

"  You  don't  understand  — "  he  began.  But  the  other  cut 
him  short  with  a  storm  of  scathing  anger. 

"  No,  I  sure  don't  understand,"  he  cried,  "  I  don't.  I  sure 
don't.  Guess  I'm  on'y  jest  a  man.  I  ain't  no  sort  o'  bum 
angel,  nor  sanctimonious  sky-bustin'  hymn-smiter.  I'm  on'y 
a  man.  An'  I  kind  o'  thank  them  as  is  responsible  that  I  ain't 
nuthin'  else.  Say  " —  his  piercing  eyes  seemed  to  bore  their 
way  right  down  to  the  little  man's  heart  like  red-hot  needles 
— "  I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say  to  you  but  you  orter  be  herdin' 
wi'  a  crowd  o'  mangy  gophers.  Tchah !  A  crowd  o'  mag- 
gots 'ud  cut  you  off'n  their  visitin'  list  in  a  diseased  carkis. 
Here's  a  feller  robs  you  in  the  meanest  way  a  man  ken  be 
robbed,  an'  you're  yearnin'  to  hand  him  more  —  a  low-down 
cur  of  a  stage-robber,  a  cattle-thief,  the  lowest  down  bum 


ON  THE  ROAD  213 

ever  created  —  an'  you'd  hand  over  this  pore  innercent  little 
kiddie  to  him.  Was  there  ever  sech  a  white-livered  sucker  ? 
Say,  you're  responsible  fer  that  pore  little  gal's  life,  you're 
responsible  fer  her  innercent  soul,  an'  you'd  hand  her  over 
to  James,  like  the  worstest  cur  in  creation.  Say,  I  ain't  got 
words  to  tell  you  what  you  are.  You're  a  white-livered  bum 
that  even  hell  won't  give  room  to.  You're  — " 

"  Here,  hold  on,"  cried  Scipio,  turning,  with  his  pale  eyes 
mildly  blazing.  "  You're  wrong,  all  wrong.  I  ain't  doing 
it  because  I'm  scared  of  James.  I  don't  care  nothing  for  his 
threats.  I'm  scared  of  no  man  —  not  even  you.  See  ?  My 
Jessie's  callin'  for  her  gal  —  my  Jessie !  Do  you  know  what 
that  means  to  me?  No,  of  course  you  don't.  You  don't 
know  my  Jessie.  You  ain't  never  loved  a  wife  like  my  Jes- 
sie. You  ain't  never  felt  what  a  kiddie  is  to  its  mother. 
You  can't  see  as  I  can  see.  This  little  gal,"  he  went  on,  ten- 
derly laying  an  arm  about  Vada's  small  shoulders,  "  will, 
maybe,  save  my  pore  Jessie.  That  pore  gal  has  hit  the  wrong 
trail,  an' — an'  I'd  sacrifice  everything  in  the  world  to  save 
her.  I'd  —  I'd  sell  my  own  soul.  I'd  give  it  to  —  save  her." 

Scipio  looked  fearlessly  into  the  gambler's  eyes.  His 
pale  cheeks  were  lit  by  a  hectic  flush  of  intense  feeling. 
There  was  a  light  in  his  eyes  of  such  honesty  and  devotion 
that  the  other  lowered  his.  He  could  not  look  upon  it  un- 
moved. 

Bill  sat  back,  for  once  in  his  life  disconcerted.  All  his 
righteous  indignation  was  gone  out  of  him.  He  was  con- 
fronted with  a  spectacle  such  as,  in  his  checkered  career,  he 
had  never  before  been  brought  into  contact  with.  It  was 
the  meeting  of  two  strangely  dissimilar,  yet  perfectly  human, 
forces.  Each  was  fighting  for  what  he  knew  to  be  right. 
Each  was  speaking  from  the  bottom  of  a  heart  inspired  by 
his  sense  of  human  right  and  loyalty.  While  the  gambler, 
without  subtlety  of  emotion,  saw  only  with  a  sense  of  hu- 
man justice,  with  a  hatred  of  the  man  who  had  so  wronged 


214       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

this  one,  with  a  desire  to  thwart  him  at  every  turn,  the  other 
possessed  a  breadth  of  feeling  sufficient  to  put  out  of  his 
thoughts  all  recollection  of  his  personal  wrong,  if  only  he 
could  help  the  woman  he  loved. 

It  was  a  meeting  of  forces  widely  different,  yet  each  in  its 
way  thrilling  with  a  wonderful  honesty  of  purpose.  And, 
curiously  enough,  the  purpose  of  Scipio,  who  lacked  so  much 
of  the  other's  intellect  and  force,  became,  in  a  measure,  the 
dominating  factor.  It  took  hold  of  the  gambler,  and  stirred 
him  as  he  had  never  been  stirred  before. 

Suddenly  Wild  Bill  leaned  forward.  Once  more  those 
swift,  relentless  eyes  focused  and  compelled  the  others. 

"  Zip,"  he  said  in  a  tone  that  was  strangely  thrilling, 
"  maybe  I  didn't  get  all  you  felt  —  all  you  got  in  that  tow- 
head  of  yours.  That  bein'  so,  guess  I  owe  you  amends. 
But  I'm  goin'  to  ast  you  to  sure  f  ergit  that  gal's  letter  —  f  er 
awhiles.  I'm  goin'  to  ast  you  to  turn  that  bussock-headed 
mule  you're  drivin'  right  around,  and  hit  back  for  the  Creek. 
You  do  this,  Zip,  an'  I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  goin'  to  do.  I 
ain't  no  sentimental  slob.  I  ain't  got  the  makin's  in  me  of 
even  a  store-mussed  angel.  See?  But  if  you  do  this  I 
swar  to  you  right  here  I'm  goin'  to  see  your  Jessie  right. 
I  swar  to  you  I'll  rid  her  of  this  '  Lord '  James,  an'  it'll  jest 
be  up  to  you  to  do  the  rest.  Git  me  ?  " 

Scipio  took  a  breath  that  was  something  like  a  gasp. 

"  You'll  —  you'll  help  me  get  her  back?"  he  breathed, 
with  a  glow  of  hope  which  almost  shocked  his  companion. 

"  I'm  not  promisin'  that,"  said  Bill  quickly.  "  That's  sure 
up  to  you.  But  I  give  it  you  right  here,  I'll  —  shift  this 
doggone  skunk  out  of  your  way." 

Scipio  made  no  verbal  reply.  Just  for  a  moment  he 
looked  into  the  gimlet  eyes  of  the  other.  He  saw  the  iron 
purpose  there.  He  saw  the  stern,  unyielding  compression  of 
the  lean,  muscular  jaws.  There  was  something  tremendous 
in  the  suggestion  of  power  lying  behind  this  ruffian's  exte- 


ON  THE  ROAD  215 

rior.     He  turned  away  and  gathered  up   the  old  mule's 

reins. 

"  You've  allus  been  friendly  to  me,  Bill,  so  — " 

He  pulled  off  the  trail  and  turned  the  mule's  head  in  the 

direction  of  home.     And  the  rest  of  the  gambler's  journey 

was  done  in  the  wake  of  Minky's  buckboard. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A   FINANCIAL  TRANSACTION 

SCIPIO  was  washing  clothes  down  at  the  creek.  So  much 
had  happened  to  him  that  day,  so  many  and  various  had  been 
the  emotions  through  which  he  had  passed,  that  there  was 
only  one  thing  left  him  to  do.  He  must  work.  He  dared 
not  sit  down  and  think.  Hard  physical  labor  was  what 
he  required.  And  the  rubbing  out  of  the  children's  small 
clothes,  and  his  own  somewhat  tattered  garments,  became  a 
sort  of  soothing  drug  which  quieted  his  troubled  mind,  and 
lulled  his  nerves  into  a  temporary  quiescence.  The  children 
were  with  him,  playing  unconcernedly  upon  the  muddy 
banks  of  the  creek,  with  all  the  usual  childish  zest  for  any- 
thing so  delickmsly  enticing  and  soft  as  liquid  river  mud. 

Vada  had  forgotten  her  journey  of  that  morning,  it  had 
quite  passed  out  of  her  little  head  in  the  usual  way  of  such 
trifling  unpleasantnesses  which  go  so  frequently  to  make  up 
the  tally  of  childhood's  days.  Jamie  had  no  understanding 
of  it.  His  Vada  was  with  him  again,  hectoring,  guiding  him 
as  was  her  wont,  and,  in  his  babyish  way,  he  was  satisfied. 

As  for  Scipio  he  gave  no  sign  of  anything.  He  was  con- 
centrating all  his  mental  energies  on  the  work  in  harfld,  thus 
endeavoring  to  shut  out  memory  which  possessed  nothing 
but  pain  for  him.  Every  now  and  then  a  quick,  sidelong 
glance  in  the  children's  direction  kept  him  informed  of  their 
doings  and  safety,  otherwise  his  eyes  were  rarely  raised  from 
the  iron  bath,  filled  to  the  brim  with  its  frothing  suds. 

Striding  down  the  slope  from  the  hut  where  he  had  come 
in  search  of  Scipio,  this  was  the  picture  Wild  Bill  discov- 


A  FINANCIAL  TRANSACTION  217 

ered.  The  little  yellow-headed  man  was  standing  in  the 
midst  of  a  small  clearing  in  the  bushes,  a  clearing  long  since 
made  for  the  purposes  of  his  wife's  weekly  wash.  His  back 
was  turned,  and  his  small  figure  was  bowed  over  the  tub  in 
front  of  him.  Every  bush  around  him  was  decorated  with 
clothes  laid  out  on  their  leafy  surfaces,  where  the  sun  could 
best  operate  its  hygienic  drying  process.  He  saw  the  bob- 
bing heads  of  the  mudlarking  children  a  few  yards  away 
where  the  low  cut-bank  hid  their  small  bodies  from  view. 
And  somehow  an  unusual  pity  stirred  his  hard,  world-worn 
heart. 

And  yet  no  one  could  have  called  him  a  sentimental  man. 
At  least,  no  one  who  knew  his  method  of  life.  How  would 
it  be  possible  to  gild  a  man  with  humane  leanings  who  would 
sit  in  to  a  game  at  poker,  and,  if  chance  came  his  way,  take 
from  any  opponent  his  last  cent  of  money,  even  if  he  knew 
that  a  wife  and  children  could  be  reduced  to  starvation 
thereby?  How  could  a  kindliness  of  purpose  be  read  into 
the  acts  of  a  man  who  would  have  no  scruple  in  taking  life, 
under  provocation,  without  the  least  mercy  or  qualm  of  con- 
science? He  displayed  no  tenderness,  he  hated  what  he 
considered  such  weakness.  It  was  his  studied  practice  to 
avoid  showing  consideration  for  others,  and  he  would  have 
bitterly  resented  those  who  considered  him.  He  preferred 
that  his  attitude  towards  the  world  should  be  one  of  un- 
yielding selfishness.  Such  was  the  game  of  life  as  he  under- 
stood it. 

Yes,  honestly  enough,  he  hated  sentiment,  and  for  this 
very  reason  he  cursed  himself  bitterly  that  such  a  feeling 
as  he  now  experienced  should  so  disturb  hiiru  He  hurried 
down  the  slope  a  shade  quicker  than  there  was  any  necessity 
for.  And  it  was  as  though  he  were  endeavoring  to  outstrip 
the  feelings  which  pursued  him. 

Scipio  heard  him  coming,  and  glanced  round  quickly. 
When  he  beheld  his  visitor  he  nodded  a  greeting  and  con- 


218       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

tinued  his  work.  In  his  heart  was  a  curious  feeling  towards 
the  gambler.  He  could  not  have  described  it.  It  was  too 
complicated.  He  liked  Wild  Bill.  He  felt  that  for  some 
indefinite  reason  he  was  his  friend.  Yet  he  resented  him, 
too.  He  did  not  know  he  resented  him.  Only  he  felt  that 
this  man  dominated  him,  and  he  was  forced  to  obey  him 
against  his  will.  At  sight  of  him  his  mind  went  back  to 
the  events  of  that  morning.  He  thought  of  Bill's  promise, 
and  a  curious  excitement  stirred  within  him.  He  wondered 
now  what  this  visit  portended. 

For  once  the  gambler  did  not  display  his  usual  readiness. 
He  did  not  speak  for  some  moments,  but  took  up  a  position 
whence  he  could  see  the  children  at  their  play,  and  best  watch 
the  little  washerman,  on  whom  he  intended  to  thrust  a  prop- 
osition that  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  some  time.  He 
chewed  his  tobacco  steadily,  while  his  expression  went 
through  many  changes.  At  last  he  drew  his  shaggy  brows 
together  and  eyed  his  victim  with  shrewd  suspicion. 

"  Say,  you're  kind  o'  smart,  ain't  you  ?  "  he  demanded 
harshly. 

The  other  looked  up  with  a  start,  and  his  mildly  inquiring 
glance  should  have  convinced  the  most  skeptical  to  the  con- 
trary. But  apparently  it  had  no  such  effect  on  his  visitor. 

"  I'd  never  ha'  tho't  it,"  Bill  went  on  coldly.  "  To  look 
at  you  one  'ud  sure  think  you  was  that  simple  a  babby  could 
fool  you.  Howsum,"  he  sighed,  "  I  don't  guess  you  ken 
never  rightly  tell." 

A  flush  began  to  warm  Scipio's  cheeks.  He  couldn't  un- 
derstand. He  wondered  hard,  vainly  endeavoring  to  grasp 
wherein  he  had  offended. 

"I  —  I  don't  get  you,"  he  said,  in  a  bewildered  fashion, 
dropping  the  garment  he  was  washing  back  into  the  soap- 
suds. 

Bill's  expression  underwent  another  change  as  he  caught 
at  the  words. 


A  FINANCIAL  TRANSACTION  219 

"  You  don't  get  me?  "  he  said  ironically.  "  You  don't  get 
me?"  Then  he  shrugged  as  though  he  was  not  angry,  but 
merely  deplored  the  other's  unsuspected  cunning.  '  You 
can't  strike  it  rich  an'  guess  you're  goin'  to  blind  folks.  I'd 
say  it  needs  every  sort  of  a  man  to  do  that  around  these 
parts." 

Scipio  gasped.  He  had  no  other  feeling  than  blank  as- 
tonishment. 

"  I  ain't  struck  it  rich,"  he  protested. 

And  his  denial  was  received  with  a  forced  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Say,  you're  a  heap  shrewd/'  cried  Bill,  when  his  laugh 
had  subsided.  "  I'd  say  you're  jest  about  slick.  Gee !  Wai, 
I  can't  blame  you  any  fer  holdin'  your  face  shut.  Ther's 
a  mint  o'  dollars  ken  drop  out  of  a  feller's  mouth  through 
an  unnatteral  openin'.  Ef  you'd  got  busy  gassin',  it's  a 
million  dollar  bet  all  the  folks  around  this  lay-out  'ud  be 
chasin'  you  clear  to  death.  Say,  it's  right,  though  ?  There's 
chunks  of  it  stickin'  right  out,  fine,  yaller,  dandy  gold.  An' 
the  quartz  bank  cuttin'  down  wider  an'  wider  ?  " 

But  Scipio  shook  his  head.  His  bewilderment  had  gone, 
and  in  place  of  it  was  sad  conviction. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  said.  "  Not  yet.  I  ain't  seen  it,  anyway. 
I  sure  think  there's  gold  in  plenty  on  that  claim.  I  know 
there  is,"  he  added,  with  unusual  force,  his  pulses  begin- 
ning to  quicken,  and  a  sudden  hope  stirring.  Bill's  accusa- 
tion was  aiding  the  effect.  "  But  it  ain't  on  the  surface.  It 
sure  ain't." 

He  stood  wondering,  all  his  washing  forgotten  in  this 
newly  raised  hope  so  subtly  stirred  by  the  gambler.  Had 
someone  else  discovered  what  he  had  missed  for  so  long. 
He  hadn't  been  near  his  claim  for  some  days.  Had  some- 
one—  ? 

"  Who  says  about  the  gold  ? "  he  demanded,  with  sudden 
inspiration. 

"  The  folks." 


220       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

The  gambler  passed  the  point  without  committing  himself. 

Scipio  shook  his  head,  puzzling.  Something  must  surely 
have  transpired,  and  yet  — 

"  You  got  me  beat,  Bill.  You  have,  sure."  The  smile 
that  accompanied  his  words  was  good  to  see.  But  somehow 
the  gambler  found  the  far  horizon  of  more  interest  just  then. 

"  You're  a  wide  one  all  right,"  he  said  thoughtfully. 
"  There's  no  gettin'  upsides  with  you.  Give  me  them  quiet, 
simple  sort  o'  fellers  every  time.  They  got  the  gas  machine 
beat  so  far  you  couldn't  locate  him  with  a  forty-foot  mi- 
croscope. Gee !  "  He  chuckled,  and  turned  again  to  con- 
template his  companion,  much  as  he  would  a  newly  discov- 
ered wonder  of  the  world. 

But  poor  Scipio  was  really  becoming  distressed.  He 
hoped,  merely  because  the  other  forced  him  to  hope,  by  his 
own  evident  sincerity.  But  the  charge  of  shrewdness,  of 
conspiring  to  keep  a  secret  he  had  never  possessed,  worried 
him. 

"  I  take  my  oath  I  don't  know  a  thing,  Bill,"  he  declared 
earnestly.  "  I  sure  don't.  You've  got  to  believe  me,  be- 
cause I  can't  say  more.  I  seen  my  claim  days  back,  an'  I 
hadn't  a  color.  I  ain't  seen  it  since.  That's  fact." 

It  was  strange  to  see  how  readily  the  disbelief  died  out 
of  the  other's  face.  It  was  almost  magical.  It  was  as 
though  his  previous  expression  had  been  nothing  but  acting 
and  his  fresh  attitude  the  result  of  studied  preparation. 

"  Well,  Zip,"  he  said  seriously,  almost  dejectedly,  "  if  you 
put  it  that  way,  I  sure  got  to  b'lieve  you.  But  it's  queer.  It 
sure  is.  There's  folks  ready  to  swear  ther's  rich  gold  on 
your  claim,  an'  I'll  tell  you  right  here  I  come  along  to  git 
in  on  it.  Y'see,  I'm  a  bizness  man,  an*  I  don't  rigger  to 
git  a  crop  o'  weeds  growin'  around  my  feet.  I  sez  to  myself, 
I  sez,  directly  I  heerd  tell,  '  Here's  Zip  with  an  elegant 
patch  o'  pay  dirt,  an'  here  am  I  with  a  wad  of  bills  handy, 
which  I'd  sure  like  to  turn  over  some/  Then  I  sez  —  I  want 


A  FINANCIAL  TRANSACTION  221 

you  to  understand  jest  how  I  thought  —  I  sez,  '  Mebbe  I've 
kind  o'  bin  useful  to  Zip.  Helped  him  out  some,  when  he 
was  fixed  awkward/  You  see,  it  ain't  my  way  to  do  things 
for  nothing.  An'  I  do  allow  I  bin  useful  to  you.  Well,  I 
thought  o'  these  things,  so  I  come  along  right  smart  to  get 
in  on  the  plum.  Sez  I,  *  Zip,  bein'  under  obligation  to  me 
some,  mebbe  he'll  let  me  buy  ha'f  share  in  his  claim,'  me 
handin'  him  a  thousand  dollars.  It  'ud  be  a  spot  cash  deal, 
an'  me  puttin'  in  a  feller  to  work  —  an'  see  things  right  f er 
me  —  why,  I  guess  there'd  be  no  chance  o'  you  gettin'  gay 
—  an'  f  akin'  the  output.  See  ?  I  don't  guess  you're  on  the 
crook,  but  in  bizness  a  feller  don't  take  chances.  Y'see  I'm 
pretty  bright  when  it  gits  to  bizness,  an',  anyway,  I  don't 
stand  f  er  no  play  o'  that  kind.  Get  me  ?  " 

The  gambler's  manner  was  wholly  severe  as  he  explained 
his  proposition,  and  impressed  his  views  of  business.  Scipio 
listened  without  the  slightest  umbrage.  He  saw  nothing 
wrong,  nothing  unfriendly  in  the  precautions  the  other  had 
intended  to  take.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  one  thing  that 
concerned  him  was  the  disappointment  he  must  cause 
him. 

"  There's  nothing  like  straight  talk,  Bill,"  he  said,  cordially. 
"  I  allus  like  straight  talk.  You  kind  of  know  just  where 
you  are  then.  There's  not  a  doubt  you've  been  real  good 
to  me,"  he  went  on,  with  evident  feeling,  "  and  I'll 
never  be  able  to  forget  it  —  never.  I  tell  you  right  here,  if 
there  was  anything  in  the  world  I  could  do  in  return,  I'd 
do  it." 

He  smiled  quaintly  and  pushed  his  stubby  fingers  through 
his  sparse  hair  in  his  most  helpless  manner. 

"  If  there  was  gold  on  my  claim,  I'd  let  you  in  all  you 
need,  and  I  wouldn't  want  your  dollars.  Dollars?  No, 
Bill,  I  don't  want  dollars  for  doing  anything  for  you.  I  sure 
don't.  I  mean  that.  Maybe  you'll  understand,  y'see  I'm 
not  a  business  man  —  never  was." 


222       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

The  gambler  averted  his  eyes.  He  could  not  look  into 
the  other's  face  so  shining  with  honesty  and  gratitude. 

"  But  there  ain't  no  gold  found  on  that  claim  yet,"  Scipio 
went  on.  "  Leastways,  not  that  I  know  of,  so  what's  the 
use  deceivin'  you  ?  An'  dollars,  why,  there's  no  question  of 
'em  between  us.  You  can  stand  in  ha'f  my  claim,  Bill,  an' 
welcome,  but  you  ain't  going  to  pay  me  dollars  for  gold  that 
ain't  been  found.  Yes,  you're  sure  welcome  to  ha'f  my 
claim,  an'  you  ken  set  a  man  working  for  you.  I'll  not  say 
but  I'll  be  glad  of  the  help.  But  don't  make  no  mistake, 
gold  ain't  been  found,  as  far  as  I  know,  an'  there  may  be 
none  there,  so  I'd  be  glad  if  you  don't  risk  a  lot  of  dollars 
in  the  work." 

The  gambler  felt  mean  as  he  listened  to  the  quiet  words 
ringing  with  such  simple  honesty.  Time  and  again  his  beady 
eyes  lifted  to  the  steady  blue  ones,  only  to  drop  quickly  be- 
fore their  fearless  sincerity.  He  stirred  irritably,  and  a  hot 
impatience  with  himself  drove  him  so  that  the  moment  Scipio 
finished  speaking  he  broke  out  at  once. 

"  Here,"  he  cried,  without  the  least  gentleness,  "  you're 
talkin'  a  heap  o'  foolishness.  I'm  a  bizness  man  offerin'  a 
bizness  proposition.  I  don't  want  nuthin'  given.  I'm  out 
to  make  a  deal.  You  say  there's  no  gold  there.  Wai,  I  say 
there  sure  is.  That  bein'  so  I'd  be  a  low  down  skunk  takin' 
ha'f  your  claim  fer  nix,  jest  because  you  guess  you  owe  me 
things  —  which  I  'low  you  sure  do,  speakin'  plain.  I  got  a 
thousand  dollars  right  here," —  he  pulled  out  a  packet  of  bills 
from  his  hip  pocket,  and  held  them  up  for  the  other's  inspec- 
tion — "  an'  them  dollars  says  ther's  gold  on  your  claim. 
An'  I'm  yearnin'  to  touch  ha'f  that  gold.  But  I'm  takin'  no 
chances.  I  want  it  all  wrote  down  reg'lar  so  folks  can't 
say  I  sneaked  around  you,  an'  got  it  for  nix.  Gee,  I'd  look 
mighty  small  if  you  turned  around  on  me  afterwards.  No, 
sir,  you  don't  get  me  that  way.  I'm  only  soft  around  my 
teeth.  If  you're  the  man  I  take  you  for,  if  you're  honest 


A  FINANCIAL  TRANSACTION  223 

as  you're  guessin',  if  you  feel  you  want  to  pay  me  fer  any- 
thing I  done  for  you,  why,  cut  the  gas  an'  take  my  dollars, 
an'  I'll  get  the  papers  made  out  by  a  Spawn  City  lawyer. 
They're  all  that  crooked  they  couldn't  walk  a  chalk-line,  but 
I  guess  they  know  how  to  bind  a  feller  good  an'  tight,  an' 
I'll  see  they  bind  you  up  so  ther'  won't  be  no  room  for  fool 
tricks.  That's  bizness." 

Scipio  shook  his  head.     And  Bill  flushed  angrily. 

"  It  ain't  square,"  the  little  man  protested.  "  Maybe 
you'll  lose  your  money." 

"  That's  up  to  me,"  the  gambler  began  fiercely.  Then  he 
checked  himself,  and  suddenly  became  quite  grieved. 
"  Wai,  Zip,  I  wouldn't  ha'  b'lieved  it.  I  sure  wouldn't.  But 
ther'—  life's  jest  self.  It's  all  self.  You're  like  all  the  rest. 
I've  been  chasin'  a  patch  o'  good  pay  dirt  ever  since  I  bin 
around  Sufferin'  Creek,  an'  it's  only  now  I've  found  one  to 
suit  me.  I  sure  thought  you'd  let  me  in  on  it.  I  sure  did. 
Howsum,  you  won't.  You  want  it  all  yourself.  Wall,  go 
ahead.  An'  you  needn't  worry  about  what  I  told  you  this 
morning.  My  word  goes  every  time.  This  ain't  going  to 
make  no  difference.  I'm  not  goin'  to  squeal  on  that  jest 
because  you  won't  'blige  me." 

He  made  as  though  to  return  his  dollars  to  his  pocket. 
He  had  turned  away,  but  his  shrewd  eyes  held  his  companion 
in  their  focus.  He  saw  the  flush  of  shame  on  Scipio's  face. 
He  saw  him  open  his  mouth  to  speak.  Then  he  saw  it  shut 
as  he  left  his  tub  and  came  towards  him.  Bill  waited,  his 
cunning  telling  him  to  keep  up  his  pretense.  Scipio  did  not 
pause  till  he  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm,  and  his  mild  eyes  were 
looking  up  into  his  keen,  hard  face. 

"  Bill,"  he  said,  "  you  can  have  ha'f  my  claim  and  —  and 
I'll  take  your  dollars.  I  jest  didn't  guess  I  was  bein'  selfish 
about  it  —  I  didn't,  truth.  I  was  thinkin'  o'  you.  I  was 
thinkin'  you  might  lose  your  bills.  Y'see,  I  haven't  had  the 
best  of  luck  —  I— " 


224       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

But  the  gambler's  face  was  a  study  as  he  pushed  his  hand 
off  and  turned  on  him.  There  was  a  fine  struggle  going  on 
in  his  manner  between  the  harshness  he  wished  to  display 
and  the  glad  triumph  he  really  felt. 

"Don't  slob,"  he  cried.  "  Here's  the  bills.  Stuff  'em 
right  down  in  your  dip.  Ha'f  that  claim  is  mine,  an'  I'll 
have  the  papers  wrote  reg'lar.  I  didn't  think  you  was  mean, 
an'  I'm  glad  you  ain't." 

Scipio  took  the  money  reluctantly  enough,  and  pushed  it 
into  his  pocket  with  a  sigh.  But  Bill  had  had  enough  of  the 
matter.  He  turned  to  go,  moving  hastily.  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  he  remembered.  Thrusting  his  hand  into  a  side 
pocket  of  his  jacket  he  produced  a  paper  parcel. 

"  Say,  Zip,  I  come  nigh  forgettin',"  he  cried  cheerfully. 
"  The  hash-slinger  down  at  Minky's  ast  me  to  hand  you 
this.  It's  for  the  kiddies.  It's  candy.  I'd  say  she's  sweet 
on  your  kiddies.  She  said  I  wasn't  to  let  you  know  she'd 
sent  'em.  So  you  ken  jest  kep  your  face  closed.  So  long." 

He  hurried  away  like  a  man  ashamed.  Scipio  had  such 
a  way  of  looking  into  his  eyes.  But  once  out  of  sight  he 
slackened  his  pace.  And  presently  a  smile  crept  into  his 
small  eyes,  that  set  them  twinkling. 

"  Guess  I'm  every  kind  of  a  f ule,"  he  muttered.  "  A 
thousand  dollars !  Gee !  An'  ther'  ain't  gold  within  a  mile 
of  the  doggone  claim — 'cep'  when  Zip's  ther',"  he  added 
thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER  XX 

HOW   THE  TRUST   BOUGHT   MEDICINE 

WILD  BILL  ate  his  supper  that  evening  because  it  was  his 
custom  to  do  so.  He  had  no  inclination  for  it,  and  it  gave 
him  no  enjoyment.  He  treated  the  matter  much  as  he  would 
have  treated  the  stoking  of  a  stove  on  a  winter's  night.  So 
long  as  he  was  filled  up  he  cared  little  for  the  class  of  the 
fuel. 

Birdie  waited  on  him  with  an  attention  and  care  such  as 
she  never  bestowed  upon  any  other  boarder  at  the  store, 
and  the  look  in  her  bright  eyes  as  she  forestalled  his  wishes, 
compared  with  the  air  with  which  she  executed  the 
harshly  delivered  orders  of  the  rest  of  the  men,  was  quite 
sufficient  to  enlighten  the  casual  onlooker  as  to  the  state  of 
her  romantic  heart.  But  her  blandishments  were  quite  lost 
upon  our  hero.  He  treated  her  with  much  the  same  sort  of 
indifference  he  might  have  displayed  towards  one  of  the 
camp  dogs. 

To-night,  particularly,  nothing  she  could  do  or  say  seemed 
to  give  him  the  least  satisfaction.  He  ignored  her  as  he 
ignored  all  the  rest  of  the  boarders,  and  devoured  his  meal 
in  absolute  silence  —  in  so  far  as  any  speech  went  —  wrapt 
in  an  impenetrable  moroseness  which  had  a  damping  effect 
upon  the  entire  company. 

Truth  to  tell,  he  was  obsessed  with  his  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings against  the  man  James.  With  every  passing  day  his 
resentment  against  him  piled  up,  till  now  he  could  think  of 
nothing  much  else  but  a  possible  way  to  dislodge  him  from 
the  pinnacle  of  his  local  notoriety,  and  so  rid  the  district  of 
the  threat  of  his  presence. 


226       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

How  much  of  this  feeling  was  purely  personal,  inspired  by 
the  natural  antagonism  of  a  strong,  even  violent,  nature 
against  a  man  whose  very  existence  was  an  everlasting  chal- 
lenge to  him,  and  how  far  it  was  the  result  of  an  unadmitted 
sympathy  for  Scipio,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  tell  in 
a  man  like  Wild  Bill.  Reason  was  not  in  such  things  with 
him.  He  never  sought  reasons  where  his  feelings  were  con- 
cerned. James  must  go.  And  so  his  whole  mind  and  force 
was  given  up  to  a  search  for  adequate  means  to  accomplish 
his  purpose. 

The  problem  was  not  easy.  And  when  things  were  not 
easy  to  him,  Bill's  temper  invariably  suffered.  Besides, 
scheming  was  never  pleasant  to  him.  He  was  so  essentially 
a  man  of  action.  An  open  battle  appealed  to  him  as  nothing 
else  in  the  world  appealed  to  him.  Force  of  arms  —  that 
was  his  conception  of  the  settlement  of  human  differences. 

He  admitted  to  himself  that  the  events  of  the  day  had 
stirred  his  "bile."  He  felt  that  he  must  hit  out  to  ease 
himself,  and  the  one  direction  to  hit  out  in  which  would 
have  given  him  any  satisfaction  was  not  yet  available.  So 
he  brooded  on,  a  smoldering  volcano  which  his  acquaint- 
ances avoided  with  a  care  inspired  by  past  experience. 

But  his  mood  was  bound  to  find  an  outlet  somehow.  It 
is  always  so.  If  the  opportunity  does  not  come  naturally, 
ill-temper  will  make  one.  It  was  this  way  with  the  gambler. 
A  devilish  impulse  caught  him  just  as  supper  was  nearing  its 
finish. 

The  thought  occurred  with  the  entrance  of  Sandy  Joyce, 
who  took  the  empty  place  at  the  table  on  Bill's  right.  Birdie 
was  hovering  near,  and,  as  Sandy  took  his  seat,  she  suddenly 
dumped  a  fresh  cup  of  coffee  before  the  gambler.  She  gig- 
gled coyly  as  the  cup  clattered  on  the  bare  table. 

"  I  ain't  set  sugar  in  it,  Bill,"  she  said  sweetly,  and  reached 
towards  the  sugar-bowl. 

But  the  man  pushed  her  arm  roughly  aside. 


HOW  THE  TRUST  BOUGHT  MEDICINE      227 

"  Oh,  skip !  "  he  cried.     "  You  make  me  sick." 

His  bearishness  in  no  way  disconcerted  the  girl.  She  per- 
sisted, and  dropped  two  spoonfuls  of  granulated  sugar  into 
his  cup. 

"  Some  folks  need  sugar,"  she  remarked,  with  another 
giggle,  as  she  moved  away.  And  somehow  it  was  Bill  who 
had  suffered  loss  of  dignity. 

This  only  helped  to  aggravate  his  mood,  and  he  turned  his 
small  eyes  sharply  on  Sandy. 

"  I'm  needin'  someone  to  work  a  claim  fer  me,"  he  said 
in  a  voice  intended  to  reach  every  ear,  and  as  he  spoke  a 
curious  look  came  into  his  eyes.  It  was  half  a  grin,  half  a 
challenge,  and  wholly  meant  mischief. 

The  effect  was  exactly  as  he  had  calculated.  The  entire 
attention  of  the  room  was  on  him  at  once,  and  he  warmed 
as  he  waited  for  Sandy's  reply. 

"  You  —  you  got  a  claim  ?  "  the  widower  inquired  blankly. 

Bill  licked  his  lips  after  devouring  a  mouthful  of  pie. 

"  An'  why  in  hell  not  ?  "  he  retorted. 

Before  Sandy  could  gather  an  adequate  reply,  the  matter 
was  taken  up  by  a  young  miner  further  down  the  table. 

"  Wher'  you  got  it,  Bill  ? "  he  inquired,  with  genuine 
interest. 

The  gambler  swallowed  another  mouthful  of  pie,  and 
rammed  the  rim  of  crust  into  his  cheek  with  his  thumb,  and 
leisurely  devoured  it  before  replying. 

"  I  don't  see  that  my  claim  has  anything  to  do  wi'  the 
company  present,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  dangerous  look  in 
his  half -grinning  eyes.  "  But,  seein'  Mr.  Joe  Brand  is  kind 
o'  curious,  guess  he  may  as  well  know  first  as  last." 

"  I  didn't  mean  no  offense,  Bill,"  apologized  the  miner, 
flushing  and  speaking  hurriedly. 

Bill  promptly  became  sarcastic. 

"  Course  you  didn't.  Folks  buttin'  in  never  don't  mean  no 
offense.  Howsum,  guess  my  claim's  on  the  banks  o'  Sufferin' 


228       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Creek.  Maybe  you  feel  better  now  ?  "  He  glared  down  the 
table,  but  finally  turned  again  to  Sandy.  "  You  ain't  per- 
tickler  busy  'bout  now,  so  —  ther's  thirty  dollars  a  week  says 
you  ken  hev  the  job.  An'  I'll  give  you  a  percentage  o'  the 
gold  you  wash  up,"  he  added  dryly.  "  You  on  ?  " 

Sandy  nodded.  He  didn't  quite  understand  his  friend's 
game.  This  was  the  first  he  had  heard  of  Bill  having 
acquired  a  claim  —  and  on  the  river,  too.  There  was  only 
one  other  man  on  the  river,  and  —  well,  Zip's  claim  was  the 
joke  of  the  camp. 

He  had  just  formulated  a  question  in  his  mind,  when  the 
words  were  taken  out  of  his  mouth  by  a  heavy-faced  pros- 
pector further  down  the  table. 

"  Wher'  'bouts  on  the  Creek,  Bill?  "  he  inquired. 

The  gambler  eyed  him  intently. 

"  Quite  a  piece  up,"  he  said  shortly. 

A  half-smile  spread  over  the  prospector's  face. 

"  Not  nigh  —  Zip's  ?  "  he  suggested. 

The  half-grin  in  Bill's  eyes  was  becoming  more  savage. 

"Yep  — an'  I  bought  it." 

His  information  increased  the  interest  with  a  bound. 
Every  man  there  knew,  or  believed,  that  Zip's  claim  was  the 
only  one  on  the  Creek. 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  any  other  but  Zip's,"  said  Joe 
Brand,  his  interest  outrunning  his  discretion. 

"  Ah,  you  buttin'  in  again,"  sneered  Bill.  "  Guess  you 
know  right,  too.  Ther'  ain't." 

It  was  curious  to  glance  down  at  the  double  row  of  faces 
lining  the  table  and  note  the  perplexity  which  suddenly 
gathered  on  them.  Bill  saw  it  and  enjoyed  it.  It  suited  his 
mood.  Finally  the  heavy-faced  prospector  blurted  out  the 
question  that  was  in  everybody's  mind,  yet  which  the  others 
dared  not  ask. 

"  You  —  you  bought  Zip's  claim  ?  "  he  asked  incredu- 
lously. 


HOW  THE  TRUST  BOUGHT  MEDICINE      229 

"  Ha'f  of  it.  Me  an'  Zip's  partners.  You  got  anything 
to  say?" 

Bill's  words  rapped  out  with  biting  force,  and  Sandy, 
knowing  the  man,  waited,  solemn-eyed.  Just  for  one  mo- 
ment astonishment  held  his  audience  breathless.  Then  some 
one  sniggered,  and  it  became  the  cue  for  an  instantaneous 
and  general  guffaw  of  derision.  Every  face  was  wreathed 
in  a  broad  grin.  The  humor  of  this  thing  was  too  much. 
Zip's  claim !  Bill,  the  keen,  unscrupulous  gambler,  had  fal- 
len for  Zip's  mud-hole  on  the  banks  of  Suffering  Creek ! 

Bill  waited.  The  laugh  was  what  he  needed,  so  he  waited 
till  it  died  out.  As  it  did  so  he  kicked  back  his  chair  and 
stood  up,  his  tall  figure  and  hard  face  a  picture  of  cold 
challenge. 

"  You're  that  merry,  folks,"  he  said,  his  teeth  clipping  each 
word,  "  that  maybe  some  o'  you  got  something  to  say.  I'd 
like  to  hear  it.  No  ?  "  as  he  waited.  But  no  one  seemed 
anxious  to  comment.  "  Joe  Brand  kind  o'  seems  fond  o' 
buttin'  in  —  mebbe  he'll  oblige." 

But  the  young  miner  was  not  to  be  drawn.  Bill  shrugged 
his  lean  shoulders,  his  fierce  eyes  alight  with  a  dangerous 
fire. 

"  Wai,"  he  went  on,  "  I  don't  guess  I  ken  make  folks  talk 
if  they  don't  notion  it.  But  I  want  to  say  right  here  I  bought 
ha'f  o'  Zip's  claim  fer  good  dollars,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  pay 
Sandy  Joyce  a  tiptop  wage  fer  workin'  my  share.  An' " — 
he  paused  and  glanced  swiftly  and  defiantly  at  the  faces 
which  were  no  longer  smiling  — "  an'  I  want  to  say  I  bought 
the  richest  lay-out  in  this  bum  camp.  Any  feller  who  ain't 
o'  the  same  opinion  ken  git  right  up  on  to  his  hind  legs  an' 
call  me  a  '  liar  ' —  an'  I'm  jest  yearnin'  fer  some  feller  to  git 
around  an'  call  me  that.  Jest  turn  it  over  in  your  fool  heads. 
You  don't  need  to  hurry  any.  Ther's  days  an'  days  to  come, 
an'  at  any  time  I'll  be  glad  fer  all  o'  you  to  come  along  an* 
tell  me  I'm  —  a  liar." 


230       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

He  paused,  his  fierce  eyes  gleaming.  He  felt  good.  His 
outburst  had  relieved  his  pent  feelings.  It  was  a  safety- 
valve  which  had  worked  satisfactorily  at  the  right  moment. 
But  as  he  received  no  answer  to  his  challenge  he  turned 
to  Sandy. 

"  Ther'  don't  seem  to  be  nuthin'  doin',"  he  said,  with  a 
grim  smile.  "  So  ef  you'll  come  right  along  we'll  fix 
things  out  in  the  store.  Guess  you  ken  finish  your  hash 
after." 

Sandy  rose.  For  a  moment  Bill  did  not  attempt  to  move. 
It  was  as  though  he  were  giving  the  rest  of  the  boarders  one 
last  chance  of  accepting  his  challenge.  But  as  no  one  offered 
any  comment  or  made  any  attempt  to  stay  him,  he  turned 
away  at  last  with  a  sigh  which  was  probably  of  disappoint- 
ment, and  led  the  way  out  into  the  store. 

But  if  the  men  had  made  no  comment  in  his  presence,  it 
was  a  different  matter  after  his  departure.  Loud  indigna- 
tion broke  out,  and  fierce,  if  impotent,  protest  passed  from 
lip  to  lip.  It  was  only  for  a  few  moments,  however,  and 
presently  anger  gave  place  to  a  realization  of  the  absurdity 
of  the  whole  thing. 

The  humor  of  these  men  was  tickled.  The  whole  thing 
was  too  ludicrous  for  words.  To  think  that  Wild  Bill,  the 
renowned  sharp,  the  shrewdest,  the  widest  man  on  Suffering 
Creek,  had  fallen  for  such  a  proposition !  It  was  certainly 
the  funniest,  the  best  joke  that  had  ever  come  their  way. 
How  had  it  happened?  they  asked  each  other.  Had  Zip 
been  clever  enough  to  "  salt "  his  claim  ?  It  was  hardly 
likely.  Only  they  knew  he  was  hard  up,  and  it  was  just 
possible,  with  his  responsibilities  weighing  heavily  on  him, 
he  had  resorted  to  an  illicit  practice  to  realize  on  his  prop- 
erty. They  thought  of  and  discussed  every  possible  means 
they  could  think  of  by  which  Bill  could  have  been  lured  to 
the  hook  —  and  caught  —  and  landed.  That  was  the  joke. 
It  was  astounding.  It  was  too  good.  To-morrow  the  whole 


HOW  THE  TRUST  BOUGHT  MEDICINE      231 

camp  would  be  ringing  with  laughter  at  the  news,  but  — 
but  the  laughter  was  not  likely  to  reach  the  gambler's 
ears. 

In  the  meantime  it  was  quite  a  different  man  who  was 
lounging  over  Minky's  counter  talking  to  Sandy  and  the 
storekeeper.  Bill  had  relieved  the  pressure  of  his  mood  for 
the  moment,  and  now,  like  a  momentarily  exhausted  volcano, 
he  was  enjoying  the  calm  of  reaction. 

"  I'll  need  you  to  start  work  right  away,"  he  was  saying, 
"  an'  you  ken  draw  on  me  fer  all  the  supplies  you  need.  It's 
a  dandy  claim/'  he  went  on  grimly,  "  but  I  don't  know  fer 
sure  what  you'll  likely  find  on  it.  Maybe  you'll  find  suthin' 
—  if  you  work  long  enough.  Anyways,  you'll  start  by 
sinkin'  a  shaft ;  an'  you'll  kep  on  sinkin'  it  till  —  till  I  tell  you 
to  quit." 

"  But  that  ain't  the  regular  way  gold  — " 

"Say,  whose  claim  is  it?  Am  I  payin'  you  or  not?" 
demanded  the  gambler  sharply. 

"  Sure  you  are,  but  you  said  it  was  the  richest  — " 

"  That  was  back  ther'  at  supper,"  said  Bill  coldly. 
"  Guess  supper's  over." 

Sandy  had  no  quickness  of  understanding.  He  did  not 
appreciate  the  fineness  of  the  distinction.  He  shook  his 
head  solemnly. 

"  Maybe  I  ain't  jest  bright  enuff  to  foller  — " 

"  You  ain't,"  agreed  Bill  shortly. 

He  winked  at  Minky,  who  was  listening  interestedly. 
Then  he  turned  abruptly  and  pointed  at  the  array  of  patent 
medicines  adorning  one  of  the  shelves. 

"  Say,"  he  cried,  "  'bout  them  physics." 

Minky  turned  and  gazed  affectionately  at  the  shelf.  It 
was  the  pride  of  his  store.  He  always  kept  it  well  dusted 
and  dressed.  The  delicate  wrappings  and  fancy  labels  al- 
ways had  a  strong  fascination  for  him.  Then  there  were  the 
curative  possibilities  of  the  contents  of  the  inviting  packages 


232       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

as  set  forth  by  the  insistent  "  drummer  "  who  sold  them  to 
him. 

"  An  elegant  stock,"  he  murmured.  "  Sort  of  concen- 
trated health/'  Then  he  glanced  round  anxiously.  "  Your 
hosses  ain't  ailin'  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  I  got  most  everything 
fer  hosses.  Ther's  embrocation,  hoss  iles,  every  sort  of  lin'- 
ments.  Hoss  balls  ?  Linseed  ?  " 

The  gambler  shook  his  head. 

"  You  ain't  got  physic  fer  men-folk  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  sure  have.  But  —  but  you  ain't  sick  ?  "  Minky  eyed 
his  friend  narrowly. 

Bill's  mouth  twisted  wryly. 

"  I  ain't  jest  sick,"  he  replied.  "  But,"  he  added  hopefully, 
"  you  can't  never  be  sure." 

Minky  nodded. 

"  That's  so.     I'd  say  you  don't  look  a  heap  sick,  though." 

"  You  sure  don't,"  agreed  Sandy.  "  But,  as  you  sez, 
you  can't  never  tell.  Now,  you  buyin'  ha'f  Zip's  claim 
makes  — "  His  words  died  down  to  a  thoughtful  murmur. 
Bill's  look  was  somehow  discouraging  as  he  pointed  at  the 
medicine. 

"  What  you  got  ?  "  he  demanded  abruptly. 

"  Why,  most  everything,"  said  Minky.  "  Ther',  you  see 
that  longish  bottle?  That's  a  dandy  cough  cure.  Guess 
you  ain't  needin'  that  ?  No  ?  Ah  !  "  as  Bill  shook  his  head, 
"  I  didn't  guess  you'd  a  cough.  Corns  ?  Now,  this  yer 
packet  is  an  elegant  fixin'  fer  corns,  soft  an'  hard.  It  jest 
kills  'em  stone  dead,  sure.  It's  bully  stuff,  but  'tain't  good 
fer  eatin'.  You  ain't  got  corns?  "  he  inquired,  as  Bill  again 
shook  his  head.  "  Ah,  seems  a  pity."  He  turned  again  to 
the  shelf,  determined,  if  possible,  to  suit  his  customer,  and 
lifted  down  a  number  of  packets  and  sealed  bottles.  "  Now, 
here,"  he  cried,  holding  up  a  dainty  box  tied  up  with  a 
delicate-colored  ribbon.  For  a  moment  his  audience  believed 
it  to  be  candy,  but  he  quickly  undeceived  them,  "  Now  this 


HOW  THE  TRUST  BOUGHT  MEDICINE      233 

yer  is  dandy  truck,  though  I  don't  guess  ther's  a  heap  o'  use 
fer  it  on  Suffering  Creek.  It's  fer  softening  alkali  water. 
When  the  drummer  told  me  that,  I  guessed  to  him  ther' 
wa'an't  a  heap  o'  water  drunk  in  this  camp.  But  he  said  it 
wa'an't  fer  drihkin'  water ;  it  was  fer  baths.  I  kind  o'  told 
him  that  wouldn't  help  the  sale  any,  so  he  said  it  could  be 
used  fer  washin'.  Seein'  he  couldn't  sell  me  any  that  way 
neither,  he  got  riled  an'  give  me  a  present  of  it,  an'  said  he 
guessed  Sufferin'  Creek  did  use  water  fer  washing  gold. 
Y'see,  its  price  is  a  dollar  an'  a  ha'f,  but,  seem'  it's  kind  o' 
dead  stock,  you  ken  have  it  a  present." 

Bill  took  it. 

"  It's  mine,"  he  said.  And  Sandy  watched  him  with  some 
concern. 

"  You  —  you  ain't  takin'  a  bath  ?  "  he  inquired  nervously. 

"  Don't  talk  foolish,"  cried  Bill,  and  turned  again  to  his 
scrutiny  of  the  shelf.  "  What  else  you  got?  Any  stummick 
physic  ?  " 

"  Sure."  Minky  held  up  a  small  bottle  of  tabloids. 
"  Camel-hell,"  he  said,  with  the  assurance  of  a  man  who 
knows  the  worth  of  the  article  he  is  offering  for  sale. 
"  Now  this  yer  is  Camel-hell  —  C-a-1-o-m-e-l.  And  I'd  sure 
say  the  name  is  appropriate.  That  doggone  *  drummer '  fel- 
ler said  ther'  was  enough  in  one  o'  them  bottles  to  kep  the 
stummicks  of  a  whole  blamed  menagerie  right  fer  six 
months.  It's  real  dandy — " 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  and  his  look  of  enthusiasm  was 
abruptly  replaced  by  one  of  anxious  interest  that  bordered 
closely  on  apprehension.  His  audience  realized  the  change, 
and  both  men  glanced  swiftly  in  the  direction  whence  the 
storekeeper's  gaze  had  become  so  suddenly  concentrated. 
Instantly  they  became  aware  that  two  strangers  had  quietly 
entered  the  store,  and  had  taken  their  places  at  one  of  the 
tables  under  the  open  window. 

Bill  thought  he  recognized  one  of  the  men,  but  was  not 


234       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

sure  where  he  had  seen  him.  Sandy  saw  nothing  remarkable 
in  their  presence,  and  at  once  turned  back  to  the  counter. 

"  More  of  'em,"  said  Minky  in  a  low  tone,  when  finally 
Bill  turned  back  to  him. 

"  Yes.     Many  while  I  bin  away  ?  " 

"  Four  or  five.  All. —  come  along  fer  a  game  —  it  seems/' 
Minky's  eyes  were  brooding. 

Suddenly  a  light  of  intelligence  sprang  into  Bill's  thought- 
ful face. 

"  Ah,  I  remember  one  o*  them.  I  see  him  in  Spawn  City 
—  in  a  bum  gamblin'  dive." 

Sandy  suddenly  roused  to  a  keen  interest. 

"  Them  strangers,"  he  said  — "  that  'minds  me  I  was 
talkin'  to  one  last  night.  He  was  askin'  me  when  a  stage 
was  running  from  here." 

"What  d'you  tell  him?"  demanded  Bill  quickly,  and 
Minky's  eyes  asked  the  question  too. 

Sandy  laughed  conceitedly. 

"  I  sure  said  ther'  wa'an't  no  stages  runnin',  with  James' 
gang  around.  I  wa'an't  goin'  to  give  nuthin'  away  to 
strangers.  Y'see,  if  I'd  pretended  we  was  sendin'  out  stages, 
we'd  have  that  gang  hangin'  around  waitin'.  'Tain't  no  use 
in  gatherin'  wasps  around  a  m'lasses-pot." 

"No.  You  didn't  tell  him  nuthin'  else?"  Bill  inquired, 
eyeing  him  shrewdly. 

"  I  did  that,"  said  Sandy  triumphantly.  "  I  filled  him  up 
good.  I  jest  told  him  we  was  wise  to  James  an'  his  gang, 
an'  was  takin'  no  chances,  seein'  Sufferm'  Creek  was  such  a 
rich  lay-out.  I  told  him  we  was  bankin'  up  the  gold  right 
here,  an'  holdin'  it  till  the  pile  was  so  big  we  could  claim  a 
Gover'ment  escort  that  could  snap  their  fingers  at  James  an' 
his  lay-out." 

A  swift  exchange  of  glances  passed  between  the  gambler 
and  the  storekeeper.  And  then,  in  a  quiet  voice,  Bill  de- 
manded — 


HOW  THE  TRUST  BOUGHT  MEDICINE      235 

"Anything  else?" 

"  Nothing  o'  consequence,"  replied  Sandy,  feeling  he  had 
acquitted  himself  well.  "  He  jest  asted  if  Minky  here 
banked  the  stuff,  an'  I  'lowed  he  did." 

"  Ah !  "  There  was  an  ominous  sparkle  in  Bill's  eyes  as 
he  breathed  his  ejaculation.  Then,  with  a  quiet  sarcasm 
quite  lost  on  the  obtuse  widower,  "  You'd  make  an  elegant 
sheriff's  officer.  You'd  raise  hell  with  the  crooks." 

Sandy  appeared  pleased  with  what  he  took  for  praise. 

"  I'd  show  'em  some  — " 

But  Bill  had  turned  to  the  storekeeper. 

"  We've  got  to  git  doin'.  I've  heerd  a  heap  in  Spawn 
City.  Anyway,  it  was  bound  to  git  around.  What  he's 
said  don't  matter  a  heap.  What  I've  heerd  tells  me  we've 
got  to  git  busy  quick.  We've  got  to  clean  you  out  of  — 
stuff,  or  ther's  goin'  to  be  a  most  outrageous  unhealthy  time 
on  Sufferin'  Creek.  We'll  fix  things  to-morrer.  Bern'  Sun- 
day," he  added  grimly,  "  it'll  be  an  elegant  day  fer  settin' 
things  right.  Meanwhiles,  I'll  ast  you  to  fix  me  a  parcel  o' 
them  physics,  jest  some  of  each,  an'  you  ken  git  Sunny  Oak 
to  pass  'em  right  on  to  Zip  fer  his  kids.  Guess  they'll  worry 
out  how  best  to  dose  'em  right." 

Minky  nodded,  but  his  eyes  were  gloomily  watching  the 
two  strangers  sitting  under  the  window.  Sandy,  however, 
suddenly  brightened  into  a  wide  smile. 

"  Sure,"  he  cried  delightedly,  slapping  his  thigh  in  his 
exuberance.  "  That's  it.  Course.  It's  all  writ  in  the  reg'- 
lations  fer  raisin'  them  kids.  Gee !  you  had  me  beat  clear  to 
death.  Physic  ev'ry  Saturday  night.  Blamed  if  this  ain't 
Saturday  —  an'  t'-morrer's  Sunday.  An'  I  tho't  you  was 
sufferin'  and  needed  physic.  Say  — " 

But  Bill,  too,  was  watching  the  strangers  with  interested 
eyes.  He  was  paying  no  sort  of  attention  to  this  wonderful 
discovery  of  his  bright  friend. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SCIPIO   MAKES   PREPARATIONS 

SCIPIO'S  impulses  were,  from  his  own  point  of  view, 
entirely  practical.  Whatever  he  did,  he  did  with  his  whole 
heart.  And  if  his  results  somehow  missed  coming  out  as 
he  intended  them,  it  was  scarcely  his  fault.  Rather  was  it 
the  misfortune  of  being  burdened  with  a  superfluous  energy, 
supported  by  inadequate  thought. 

And  he  felt  something  of  this  as  he  sat  in  his  living-room 
and  glanced  round  him  at  the  unaccountable  disorder  that 
maintained.  It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  all  his  spare  time 
in  his  home  on  Saturday  had  been  spent  in  cleaning  and 
scrubbing  and  putting  straight,  and  yet  —  and  yet —  He 
passed  a  stubby  hand  across  his  forehead,  as  though  to  brush 
aside  the  vision  of  the  confusion  he  beheld. 

He  knew  everything  was  wrong,  and  a  subconscious  feel- 
ing told  him  that  he  had  no  power  to  put  things  right.  It 
was  curious,  too.  Every  utensil,  every  stick  of  furniture, 
the  floor,  the  stove,  everything  had  been  scrubbed  and 
garnished  at  a  great  expense  of  labor.  Everything  had  been 
carefully  bestowed  in  the  place  which,  to  his  mind,  seemed 
most  suited  for  its  disposal.  Yet  now,  as  he  gazed  about 
him  at  the  result,  he  knew  that  only  a  cleanly  untidiness 
prevailed,  and  he  felt  disheartened. 

Look  at  the  children's  clean  clothes,  carefully  folded  with 
almost  painful  exactness;  yet  they  were  like  a  pile  of  rags 
just  thrown  together.  And  their  unironed  condition  added 
to  the  illusion.  Every  cooking-pot  and  pan  had  been  cleaned 
and  polished,  yet,  to  his  eyes,  the  litter  of  them  suggested 


SCIPIO  MAKES  PREPARATIONS  237 

one  of  the  heaps  of  iron  scraps  out  on  the  dumps.  How 
was  it  every  piece  of  china  looked  forlornly  suggestive  of 
a  wanderer  without  a  home?  No,  he  did  not  know.  He 
had  done  his  very  best,  and  yet  everything  seemed  to  need 
just  that  magic  touch  to  give  his  home  the  requisite  well- 
cared-for  air. 

He  was  disappointed,  and  his  feelings  were  plainly  to  be 
perceived  in  the  regretful  glance  of  his  pale  eyes.  For  some 
moments  his  optimistic  energy  rose  and  prompted  him  to  be- 
gin all  over  again,  but  he  denied  himself  this  satisfaction  as 
he  glanced  through  the  window  at  the  morning  sun.  It  was 
too  high  up  in  the  sky.  There  was  other  work  yet  before 
him,  with  none  too  much  time  for  its  performance  before 
the  mid-day  meal. 

Instead,  he  turned  to  the  "  regulations  "  which  Sunny  Oak 
had  furnished  him  with,  and,  with  an  index  finger  following 
out  the  words,  he  read  down  the  details  of  the  work  for 
Sunday  —  in  so  far  as  his  twins  were  concerned. 

"  Ah,"  he  murmured,  "  I  got  the  wash  done  yesterday. 
It  says  here  Monday.  That's  kind  of  a  pity."  Then  he 
brightened  into  hopefulness.  "  Guess  I  kin  do  those  things 
again  Monday.  I  sort  o'  fancy  they  could  do  with  another 
wash  'fore  the  kiddies  wear  them.  I  never  could  wash 
clothes  right,  first  time.  Now,  Sunday."  His  finger  passed 
slowly  from  one  detail  to  another.  "  Breakfast  —  yes. 
Bath.  Ah,  guess  that  comes  next.  Now,  'bout  that  bath." 
He  glanced  anxiously  round  him.  Then  he  turned  back  to 
the  regulations.  "  It  don't  say  whether  hot  or  cold,"  he 
muttered  disappointedly. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  perplexed.  Then  he  began  to 
reason  the  matter  out  with  himself.  It  was  summer.  For 
grown-ups  it  would  naturally  be  a  cold  bath,  but  he  was  not 
so  sure  about  children.  They  were  very  young,  and  it 
would  be  so  easy  for  them  to  take  cold,  he  thought.  No,  it 
had  best  be  hot.  He  would  cook  some  water.  This  thought 


238       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

prompting  him,  he  set  the  saucepan  on  the  stove  and  stirred 
the  fire. 

He  was  turning  back  to  his  regulations,  when  it  occurred 
to  him  that  he  must  now  find  something  to  bathe  the  children 
in.  Glancing  about  amongst  the  few  pots  he  possessed,  he 
realized  that  the  largest  saucepan,  or  "  billy,"  in  the  house 
would  not  hold  more  than  a  gallon  of  water.  No,  these 
were  no  use,  for  though  he  exercised  all  his  ingenuity  he 
could  see  no  way  of  bathing  the  children  in  any  of  them. 
Once  during  his  cogitations  he  was  very  nearly  inspired.  It 
flashed  through  his  mind  that  he  might  stand  each  child  out- 
side of  a  couple  of  pots  and  wash  them  all  over  that  way. 
But  he  quickly  negatived  the  thought.  That  wasn't  his  idea 
of  a  bath.  They  must  sit  in  the  water. 

He  was  about  to  give  the  matter  up  in  despair,  when,  in  a 
moment  of  inspiration,  he  remembered  the  washing-tub.  Of 
course,  that  was  the  very  thing.  They  could  both  sit  in  that 
together.  It  was  down  at  the  river,  but  he  could  easily  fetch 
it  up. 

So  he  turned  again  in  relief  to  the  regulations.  What 
next?  He  found  his  place,  and  read  the  directions  out 
slowly. 

"  '  After  their  bath  kids  needs  an  hour's  Bible  talk.'  " 

He  read  it  again.  And  then  a  third  time,  so  as  to  make 
quite  sure.  Then  he  turned  thoughtfully  to  the  door,  staring 
out  at  the  bright  sunlight  beyond.  He  could  hear  the  chil- 
dren's voices  as  they  played  outside,  but  he  was  not  heeding 
them.  He  was  delving  around  in  a  hazy  recollection  of 
Bible  subjects,  which  he  vaguely  remembered  having  studied 
when  a  child. 

It  was  difficult  —  very  difficult.  But  he  was  not  beaten. 
There  were  several  subjects  that  occurred  to  him  in  scraps. 
There  was  Noah.  Then  there  was  Moses.  He  recalled 
something  of  Solomon,  and  he  knew  that  David  slew  a 
giant. 


SCIPIO  MAKES  PREPARATIONS  239 

But  none  of  these  subjects  amounted  to  more  than  a  dim 
recollection.  Of  details  he  knew  none.  Worked  into  a 
thorough  muddle  with  his  worry,  he  was  almost  despairing 
again  when  suddenly  he  remembered  that  Jessie  possessed 
a  Bible.  Perhaps  it  was  still  in  the  bedroom.  He  would  go 
and  see.  It  would  surely  help  him.  So  he  promptly  went 
in  search  of  it,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  was  sitting  down 
beside  the  table  poring  over  it  and  studiously  preparing 
himself  for  his  forthcoming  tutelary  duties. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SUNDAY   MORNING   IN   SUFFERING  CREEK 

ON  the  veranda  of  the  store  was  the  usual  Sunday  morn- 
ing gathering  of  the  citizens  of  Suffering  Creek,  an  im- 
promptu function  which  occurred  as  regularly  as  the  sun  rose 
and  set.  Some  of  the  men  were  clad  in  their  best  black 
broadcloth,  resplendent,  if  shiny  at  the  seams,  and  bespotted 
with  drink  and  tobacco  stains.  But  the  majority  had  made 
no  such  effort  to  differentiate  between  the  seventh  day  of  the 
week  and  the  other  six.  The  only  concession  that  everyone 
yielded,  and  then  with  bad  enough  grace  in  many  instances, 
was  to  add  to  the  boredom  of  their  day  of  rest  by  performing 
a  scanty  ablution  in  the  washing  trough  at  the  back  of  the 
store. 

Minky  was  one  of  the  few  who  clung  to  the  customs  of 
his  up-bringing.  He  was  there,  ample,  and  gayly  beaming, 
in  "  boiled  "  shirt,  and  a  highly  colored  vest,  which  clashed 
effusively  with  his  brilliantly  variegated  bow-tie,  but  of 
which  he  was  inordinately  proud. 

It  was  the  custom  at  these  meetings  to  discuss  any  matters 
which  affected  the  well-being  of  the  community,  to  listen 
to  any  item  of  interest  pointing  the  prosperity  of  the  local 
gold  industry,  to  thresh  out  complaints.  In  fact,  it  became 
a  sort  of  Local  Government  Board,  of  which  the  storekeeper 
was  president,  and  such  men  as  Wild  Bill,  Sandy  Joyce  and 
one  or  two  of  the  more  successful  miners  formed  the 
governing  committee. 

But  it  was  yet  comparatively  early,  and  many  sore  heads 
were  still  clinging  to  their  rough  pillows.  Saturday  night 


SUNDAY  IN  SUFFERING  CREEK  241 

was  always  a  heavy  occasion,  and  the  Sunday  morning 
sleep  was  a  generally  acknowledged  necessity.  However, 
this  did  not  prevent  discussion  amongst  those  already 
assembled. 

Wild  Bill  was  not  there.  Sandy  Joyce  was  still  absent, 
although  both  had  been  long  since  stirring.  Someone  sar- 
castically suggested  that  they  had  gone  off  to  inspect  the 
gambler's  rich  strike  before  Sandy  got  to  work  on  it  on  the 
morrow.  This  drew  a  great  laugh  at  Wild  Bill's  expense. 
And  it  was  only  the  loyal  Minky's  voice  that  checked  it. 

"  You'se  fellers  are  laffin',"  he  said,  in  good-humored 
reproval.  "  Wai,  laff.  I  can't  say  I  know  why  Bill's  bo't 
that  claim,  but  I'll  say  this:  I'd  a  heap  sooner  foller  his 
money  than  any  other  man's.  I've  sure  got  a  notion  we  best 
do  our  laffin'  right  now." 

"That's  so,"  agreed  Joe  Brand  reluctantly.  "Bill's  a 
cur'us  feller.  He's  so  mighty  cur'us  I  ain't  got  much  use 
for  him  —  personal.  But  I'll  say  right  here,  he's  wide 
enough  to  beat  most  any  feller  at  any  bluff  he's  got  savvee  to 
put  up.  Howsum,  every  *  smart '  falls  fer  things  at  times. 
Y'see,  they  get  lookin'  fer  rich  strikes  that  hard,  an'  are  so 
busy  keppin'  other  folks  out  o'  them,  it's  dead  easy  gettin' 
'em  trippin'.  Guess  that  tow-headed  sucker,  Zip,  's  got  him 
trippin'  about  now,  sure." 

Minky  shook  his  head.  He  did  not  believe  it.  If  Bill 
had  been  caught  napping,  he  must  have  willfully  gone  to 
sleep.  He  knew  the  man  too  well.  However,  he  had  no 
intention  of  arguing  the  matter  with  these  people.  So  he 
turned  away  and  stood  staring  out  at  the  far  distance  beyond 
the  creek. 

In  a  few  moments  the  whole  matter  was  dismissed  from 
his  mind,  and  his  thoughts  filled  with  a  something  that  lately 
had  become  a  sort  of  obsession  to  him.  It  was  the  safety  of 
his  gold-dust  that  troubled,  and  as  each  day  passed  his  appre- 
hensions grew.  He  felt  that  trouble  was  threatening  in  the 


242       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

air  of  Suffering  Creek,  and  the  thought  of  how  easily  he 
might  be  taken  at  a  disadvantage  worried  him  terribly.  He 
knew  that  it  was  imperative  for  him  to  unload  his  gold. 
But  how?  How  could  it  be  done  in  safety,  in  the  light  of 
past  events?  It  was  suicidal  to  send  it  off  to  Spawn  City 
on  a  stage,  with  the  James  gang  watching  the  district.  And 
the  Government  —  ? 

Suddenly  his  eyes  lit  excitedly.  He  pointed  out  across  the 
creek  with  startling  abruptness,  in  a  direction  where  the  land 
sloped  gradually  upwards  towards  the  more  distant  foothills, 
in  a  broken  carpet  of  pine  woods.  He  was  indicating  a  rift 
in  the  forest,  where,  for  a  long  stretch,  a  wide  clearing  had 
been  made  by  the  axes  of  the  pioneers  of  the  camp. 

"  Ho,  fellers!  "  he  cried.  "  Get  a  peek  yonder.  Who's 
that?" 

In  an  instant  every  eye  followed  the  direction  of  his  out- 
stretched arm.  And  the  men  stood  silently  watching  the 
progress  of  a  horseman  racing  headlong  through  the  clearing 
and  making  for  the  creek  in  front  of  them  as  fast  as  his 
horse  could  lay  legs  to  the  ground.  So  silent  and  intent 
did  the  group  on  the  veranda  become,  that  faint,  yet  sharply 
distinct,  even  at  that  distance,  the  thrashing  of  the  horse's 
hoofs  floated  to  their  straining  ears  on  the  still  morning  air, 
and  set  them  wondering. 

On  came  the  man  at  a  furious  pace.  He  was  leaning  far 
over  his  horse's  neck,  so  that  the  whole  weight  of  his  body 
was  well  clear  of  the  saddle.  And  as  he  came  the  waiting 
men  could  plainly  see  the  rise  and  fall  of  his  arm,  as  he 
mercilessly  flogged  his  straining  beast.  It  was  Joe  Brand 
who  first  broke  the  silence. 

"Looks  like  Sid  Morton,"  he  hazarded.  "I  kind  o' 
seem  to  mind  his  sorrel  with  four  white  legs.  He's  comin' 
from  the  right  direction,  too.  Guess  his  ranch  is  ten  miles 
up  yonder.  Say,  he's  makin'  a  hell  of  a  bat." 

"  He  sure  is."    Jim  Wright,  the  oldest  miner  in  the  camp, 


SUNDAY  IN  SUFFERING  CREEK  243 

blinked  his  red-rimmed  eyes  as  they  watered  with  the  strain 
of  watching,  "  It's  trouble  that's  chasin'  him,"  he  added, 
with  conviction.  "  Trouble  o'  some  kind." 

"  What  sort  o'  trouble  ? "  Minky  spoke  half  to  him- 
self. Just  now  there  was  only  one  idea  of  trouble  in  his 
mind. 

Somebody  laughed  foolishly. 

"  There  ain't  many  sorts  o'  trouble  sets  a  man  chasin' 
like  that,"  said  a  voice  in  the  background. 

Minky  glanced  round. 

"  What,  are  they,  Van  ?  "  he  inquired,  and  turned  back 
again  to  his  scrutiny  of  the  on-coming  horseman. 

"  Sickness,  an' —  guns,"  replied  the  man  addressed  as 
Van,  with  another  foolish  laugh.  "If  it's  Sid  he  ain't  got 
anybody  out  on  his  ranch  to  be  sick,  'cep'  his  two  'punchers. 
An'  I  don't  guess  he'd  chase  for  them.  Must  be  '  guns.' '; 

No  one  answered  him.  Everybody  was  too  intent  on  the 
extraordinary  phenomenon.  The  man  was  nearing  the 
creek.  In  a  few  seconds  he  would  be  hidden  from  view, 
for  the  opposite  bank  lay  far  below  them,  cut  off  from 
sight  by  the  height  of  the  rising  ground  intervening  on  the 
hither  side. 

A  moment  later  a  distinct  movement  amongst  the 
watchers,  which  had  something  almost  of  relief  in  it,  told 
that  this  had  happened.  Minky  turned  to  Jim  Wright,  who 
chanced  to  be  nearest  him. 

"  It's  Sid,"  he  declared  definitely. 

The  old  man  nodded. 

"  An'  I  guess  Van's  right,"  he  agreed. 

"  He'll  be  along  up  in  a  minute,"  said  Joe  Brand. 

Minky  remained  where  he  was  watching  the  point  at 
which  he  expected  to  see  the  horseman  reappear.  This  sud- 
den apparition  had  fastened  itself  upon  his  general  appre- 
hension and  become  part  of  it.  What  was  the  news  the  man 
was  bringing? 


244       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Some  of  the  men  moved  off  the  veranda  to  meet  the  horse- 
man when  he  came  up,  but  the  majority  remained  where 
they  were.  In  spite  of  their  interest,  these  people  were 
rarely  carried  away  by  their  feelings  in  a  matter  of  this  sort. 
Time  would  tell  them  all  they  wanted  to  know.  Perhaps 
a  good  deal  more  than  they  cared  to  hear.  So  they  pre- 
ferred to  wait. 

Their  patience  was  quickly  rewarded.  In  less  than  five 
minutes  a  bobbing  head  rose  above  the  brow  of  the  incline. 
Then  came  the  man.  He  was  still  leaning  forward  to  ease 
his  panting  horse,  whose  dilated  nostrils  and  flattened  ears 
told  the  onlookers  of  its  desperate  journey.  The  leg-weary 
beast  floundered  up  the  steep  under  quirt  and  spur  — 
and,  in  a  moment,  stood  tottering,  gasping  and  steaming  be- 
fore the  eager  crowd. 

Sid  Morton  almost  fell  out  of  the  saddle.  And  as  his  feet 
came  to  the  ground  he  reeled.  But  Minky  caught  him,  and 
he  steadied  himself. 

"  I'm  beat,"  the  horseman  cried  desperately.  "  For 
mercy's  sake  hand  me  a  horn  o'  whisky." 

He  flung  himself  down  on  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  leaving 
his  jaded  beast  to  anyone's  care.  He  was  too  far  spent  to 
think  of  anything  or  anybody  but  himself.  Falling  back 
against  the  post  he  closed  his  eyes  while  the  silent  crowd 
looked  on  stupidly. 

Minky  seemed  to  be  the  only  one  who  fully  grasped  the 
situation.  He  passed  the  foundered  horse  on  to  his 
"  choreman,"  and  then  himself  procured  a  stiff  drink  of  rye 
whisky  for  the  exhausted  man.  This  he  administered 
without  a  moment's  delay,  and  the  ranchman  opened  his 
eyes. 

The  next  instant  he  sat  up,  and,  in  doing  so,  disclosed  a 
large  dark-red  patch  on  the  post  he  had  leaned  against. 
Minky  saw  the  ominous  stain. 

"  Wounded  ?  "  he  inquired  sharply. 


SUNDAY  IN  SUFFERING  CREEK  245 

"  Some."  Then  he  added,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
"  Yes,  guess  I'm  done." 

The  ranchman  spoke  rapidly.  For  the  moment  at  least 
his  weakness  seemed  to  have  passed,  and  the  weariness  to 
have  gone  out  of  his  eyes  and  voice.  He  strained  eagerly, 
his  eyes  alight  and  bloodshot.  The  whisky  had  given  him 
momentary  courage,  momentary  strength ;  the  drawn  lines  of 
rapidly  draining  life  had  smoothed  out  of  his  young  cheeks. 

"  Here,  listen,"  he  cried,  almost  fiercely.  "  I'm  beat.  I 
know.  '  But  —  but  I  want  to  tell  you  things.  You  needn't 
to  notice  that  hole  in  my  back."  He  writhed  painfully. 
"  Guess  they  —  they  got  my  lung  or  —  or  somethin'.  Y'see, 
it's  the  James  gang.  Some  of  'em  are  " —  a  spasm  of  pain 
shot  athwart  his  face  as  he  hesitated  — "  'bout  three  miles 
back  ther'— " 

At  this  point  a  terrible  fit  of  coughing  interrupted  him, 
and  blood  trickled  into  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  Minky 
understood.  He  dispatched  one  of  the  bystanders  for  some 
brandy,  while  he  knelt  down  to  the  man's  support.  At  once 
the  drooping  body  sagged  heavily  upon  his  arm;  but  when 
the  paroxysm  had  passed  the  weight  lightened,  and  the  dying 
man  hurried  on  with  his  story,  although  his  voice  had  lost 
more  than  half  of  its  former  ring. 

"  Ther'  ain't  much  time,"  he  said,  with  something  like  a 
gasp.  "  He's  run  off  my  stock,  an'  set  my  hay  an'  the  cor- 
rals afire.  He  —  he  got  us  when  we  was  roundin' — 
roundin'  up  a  bunch  o'  steers.  Y'see  —  y'see,  we  was  in  — 
in  the  saddle." 

Again  he  paused.  This  time  his  breath  came  in  gasps  and 
deep-throated  gurglings.  He  struggled  on,  however,  stum- 
bling and  gasping  with  almost  every  second  word. 

"We  put  up  a  —  scrap  —  good.  An'  — an'  both  — my 
boys  was  — was  dropped  cold.  After  I  — I  emptied  — my 
gun  —  I  —  I  hit  —  the  trail  for  here.  Then  I  —  got  it  good 
Say—" 


246       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Once  more  he  was  interrupted  by  a  fit  of  terrible  cough- 
ing. And  the  moment  it  eased  the  storekeeper  held  the 
brandy,  which  one  of  the  boys  had  brought,  to  his  blood- 
flecked  lips.  The  poor  fellow's  end  was  not  far  off.  The 
onlookers  knew  it.  Minky  knew  there  was  practically  noth- 
ing to  be  done  for  him.  All  these  men  had  witnessed  the 
approach  of  death  in  this  form  too  often  before.  A  lung 
pierced  by  a  bullet!  They  could  do  nothing  but  look  on 
curiously,  helplessly  and  listen  carefully  to  the  story  he  was 
trying  to  tell. 

The  man  struggled  with  himself  for  some  moments.  The 
strong  young  body  was  yielding  reluctantly  enough  to  the 
death-grip.  And  at  last  his  words  gasped  haltingly  upon  the 
still  air. 

"  Their  plugs  —  wasn't  —  fresh.  Mine  —  was.  That 
give  —  me  —  the  —  legs  —  of  'em.  But  —  they  —  rode 

—  hard,  an'—" 

His  voice  died  down  to  a  whistling  gasp  and  his  eyes 
closed.  He  was  sinking  fast.  Minky  forced  more  brandy 
between  his  lips.  And  presently  the  drooping  eyelids 
widened,  and  a  momentary  strength  lifted  the  weakening 
body. 

"  They  f  ollered,"  he  mumbled,  "  but  —  I  —  don't  —  know 

—  how  —  many.        'Bout  —  three.      Three  —  miles  —  back 


His  eyes  were  glazing  and  staring  painfully.  And  as  his 
last  words  hovered  on  his  lips  they  were  drowned  by  the 
gurgling  and  rattling  in  his  throat.  Suddenly  a  shudder 
passed  through  his  frame.  He  started,  his  eyes  staring 
wildly. 

"  I'm  —  done  !  "  he  gasped.  His  arms  shot  up  convul- 
sively, his  legs  flung  out.  And  then  all  his  weight  dropped 
back  on  to  the  storekeeper's  supporting  arm.  The  next 
moment  his  body  seemed  to  heave  as  with  a  deep,  restful 
sigh,  and  his  head  lolled  helplessly  forward.  He  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A   BATH    AND 

SCIPIO  started  and  looked  up  as  a  joyous  greeting  from 
the  children  outside  warned  him  of  the  approach  of  a  visitor. 
He  was  rather  glad  of  the  interruption,  too.  He  found  the 
Bible  offered  him  such  an  enormous  field  of  research.  It 
was  worse  than  enormous;  it  was  overwhelming.  The 
Bible  was  really  more  than  he  could  study  in  the  few  min- 
utes he  had  allowed  himself.  As  yet  he  had  not  found  even 
one  single  mention  of  the  few  subjects  he  still  retained  a 
vague  recollection  of. 

As  he  glanced  at  the  doorway  it  was  darkened  by  a  fa- 
miliar figure.  Sunny  Oak,  as  ragged,  disreputable  and  un- 
clean as  usual,  smiled  himself  into  the  room. 

"  Howdy,  Zip  ?  "  he  greeted  genially.  "  Guessed  I'd  git 
around,  seem'  it  was  Sunday.  Y'see,  folks  don't  work  any 
Sunday.  I'd  sure  say  it's  a  real  blessin'  folks  is  'lowed  to 
rest  one  day  in  seven.  Talkin'  o'  work,  I  heerd  tell  you've 
took  a  pardner  to  your  claim.  Wild  Bill's  smart.  He  ain't 
bluffed  you  any  ?  " 

The  loafer  seated  himself  in  the  other  chair  with  an  air 
of  utter  weariness.  He  might  just  have  finished  a  spell  of 
the  most  arduous  labor,  instead  of  having  merely  strolled 
across  the  dumps.  Scipio  smiled  faintly. 

"  He  hasn't  bluffed  me  any,"  he  said  gently.  "  Seems  to 
me  he  wouldn't  bluff  me.  Yes,  he's  in  on  ha'f  my  claim. 
Y'see,  he  thinks  ther's  gold  in  sight,  an' —  an'  I  know  ther' 
ain't.  That's  what's  troubling  me.  I  kind  of  feel  mean 


248       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Sunny  yawned  luxuriously. 

"  Don't  you  worry  any,"  he  said  easily.  "  Bill's  mighty 
wide.  If  he's  come  in  on  your  claim  he's  —  needin'  to  bad. 
Say-" 

He  broke  off  and  turned  alertly  to  the  door.  A  sound  of 
voices  reached  them,  and  a  moment  later  Sandy  Joyce  and 
Toby  stood  grinning  in  the  doorway. 

"  Gee !  "  cried  Sunny.     "  Gettin'  quite  a  party." 

"  I'm  real  pleased  you  folks  come  along,"  Scipio  declared 
warmly.  He  stood  up  and  looked  round  uncertainly. 
"  Say,"  he  went  on,  his  pale  face  flushing  a  little  ruefully, 
"  come  right  in,  boys.  I  don't  see  jest  where  you're  goin'  to 
sit.  Maybe  the  table's  good  an'  strong.  This  chair'll 
do  for  one." 

But  Toby  would  have  none  of  it. 

"  Set  you  down,  Zip,"  he  cried.  "  I  got  this  doorway. 
Guess  the  table'll  fit  Sandy.  He's  kind  o'  high  in  his  no- 
tions. I  jest  see  Bill  comin'  along  up  from  the  river. 
Looked  like  he  was  comin'  this  way.  How's  the  kids  ?  " 

"  Why,  bully,"  said  Scipio  amiably.  "  Y'see,  I  got  'em 
fixed  right  all  right  since  Sunny  wrote  out  those  regulations 
for  me.  Those  regulations  are  jest  dandy,  and  I'm  des- 
perate obliged  to  him.  A  feller  would  need  to  be  a  bum 
sort  of  fool,  anyhow,  who  couldn't  fix  kids  right  with  it  all 
set  out  so  careful.  There  sure  are  things  set  down  there  I'd 
never  have  thought  of  —  an'  I'm  their  father,  too."  He 
paused  and  glanced  nervously  round  at  the  friendly  faces. 
Then,  with  evident  anxiety,  he  hurried  on.  "  I  was  just 
thinkin',"  he  exclaimed,  "maybe  some  hot  coffee  wouldn't 
come  amiss.  Y'see,  I  ain't  no  rye.  Guess  I'll  make  that 
coffee  right  away.  I  got  water  cooking  on  the  stove.  I 
was  goin'  to  use  it  for  bathin'  the  kids,  but — " 

His  visitors  exchanged  swift  glances,  and  Sunny  broke  in. 
"  Don't  do  it,  Zip,"  he  said  with  an  amiable  grin.  "  These 
boys  don't  figger  to  unpickle  their  vitals  with  no  sech  truck 


A  BATH  AND  —  249 

as  coffee.  Say  " —  his  eyes  wandered  to  where  his  carefully 
written  regulations  were  posted,  "  talkin'  o'  baths,  have  you 
physicked  the  kids  right  ?  " 

Scipio,  feeling  somewhat  relieved,  returned  to  his  chair 
and  lodged  himself  upon  its  edge.  He  could  not  settle  him- 
self at  his  ease.  Somehow  he  felt  that  these  men  were  en- 
tirely his  superior  in  all  those  things  which  count  for  man- 
hood ;  and  the  kindness  of  such  a  visit  rather  overwhelmed 
him.  Then,  too,  he  was  sincerely  regretting  his  inadequate 
hospitality.  Now  he  became  nervously  enthusiastic. 

"  I  sure  did,"  he  cried  eagerly.  "  Those  physics  were  real 
elegant.  If  you'll  tell  me  what  they  cost  you,  Sunny,  I'll 
square  up  now.  How  — " 

He  pulled  out  some  money,  but  the  loafer  waved  it  aside 
with  ridiculous  dignity. 

"  Thievin'  doctors  needs  pay.  I  ain't  no  bum  doc.  What 
you  give  'em  —  the  kids  ?  " 

Scipio  bundled  his  money  back  into  his  pocket,  flushing 
at  the  thought  that  he  had  unintentionally  insulted  his  bene- 
factor. 

"  Well,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  I  didn't  give  'em  no  corn 
cure.  Y'see,"  he  added  apologetically,  "  I  couldn't  find  no 
corns  on  'em  to  speak  of.  But,"  he  went  on  more  hopefully, 
"  I  give  'em  the  cough  cure.  They  ain't  got  no  coughs, 
neither  of  'em,  but,  seein'  they  was  to  take  a  bath,  I  guessed 
it  'ud  be  a  kind  of  precaution.  Then  there  were  them  pow- 
ders. How  were  they  called?  Why  —  Lick  —  Lick  — 
well,  they  were  called  Lick  —  something.  Anyways,  I  give 
'em  one  each.  They  didn't  take  'em  easy,  an'  was  nigh  sick, 
but  they  got  'em  down  after  awhile.  Then,  seein'  they  got 
bruises  on  their  legs,  playin',  I  rubbed  'em  good  with  hoss 
lin'ment.  After  that  I  give  'em  some  o'  that  tonic  —  quinine 
an'  something.  An'  then,  seein'  they  couldn't  eat  food  this 
mornin',  an*  had  got  sick  headaches,  I  give  'em  one  o'  them 
fizzy  Seidlitz  fellers  between  'em.  Jamie  bein'  the  smallest 


250       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

I  give  him  the  thin  white  packet,  an'  the  other,  the  blue  one, 
I  give  to  Vada.  That  seemed  to  fix  them  good,  an  I  guess 
they're  most  ready  fer  their  baths  by  now." 

"  I  guessed  you'd  treat  'em  right,"  approved  Sunny 
seriously.  "  Ther'  ain't  nothin'  like  physic.  You're  sure  a 
wise  guy,  Zip." 

Sandy  Joyce  agreed,  too. 

"  You  was  dead  right,"  he  said  impressively.  "  It  don't 
never  do  takin'  chances  with  kids  o'  that  age.  Chances  is 
bum  things,  anyway.  Y'see,  kids  ken  ketch  such  a  heap  o' 
things.  Ther's  bile,  an'  measles,  an'  dropsy,  an'  cancer,  an' 
hydryfoby,  an'  all  kinds  o'  things.  They's  li'ble  to  ketch  'em 
as  easy  as  gettin'  flies  wi'  molasses.  An'  some  o'  them  is 
ter'ble  bad.  Ever  had  hydryfoby?  No?  Wai,  I  ain't 
neither,  but  I  see  a  feller  with  it  oncet,  an'  he  jest  went 
around  barkin'  like  a  camp  dog  chasm'  after  swill  bar'ls,  an' 
was  scared  to  death  o'  water  — " 

"  Some  folks  don't  need  hydryfoby  fer  that,"  put  in  Toby, 
with  a  grin. 

"  Ther'  ain't  no  call  fer  you  buttin'  in,"  flashed  Sandy 
angrily.  "  Guess  I'm  talkin'  o'  things  you  ain't  heerd  tell 
of.  You  ain't  out  o'  your  cradle  yet." 

He  turned  back  to  his  host  and  prepared  to  continue  his 
list  of  horrors,  but  Sunny  forestalled  him. 

"  Talkin'  o'  water,"  he  said,  "  you  ain't  bathed  the  kids 
yet?" 

Scipio  shook  his  head. 

"  The  water's  cookin'." 

"Cookin'?"     Toby  whistled. 

Sunny  sat  up,  all  interest. 

"  Hot  bath  ?  "  he  inquired,  with  wide  eyes.  "  You  ain't 
givin'  'em  a  hot  bath  ?  "  he  exclaimed  incredulously. 

A  troubled  look  came  into  Scipio's  pale  eyes.  He  doubted 
his  purpose  in  face  of  his  friends'  astonishment. 

"  Why,  yes.     That's  how  I  was  thinking,"  he  said  weakly. 


A  BATH  AND—  251 

"  Y'see,  I  guessed  it  would  soften  the  dirt  quicker,  and  make 
it  easy  wipin'  it  off." 

"  But  ain't  you  scared  o'  them  —  peelin'  ?  "  inquired 
Sandy,  refusing  to  be  left  out  of  the  discussion. 

Scipio  looked  perplexed. 

"  Peelin'  ?  "  he  said.     "  I  —  I  don't  think  I  get  you." 

"  Why,"  explained  Sandy  readily,  "  peelin'  their  skins  off 
'em.  You  allus  sets  potatoes  in  b'ilin'  water  to  git  their 
skins  peeled  quick.  Same  with  hogs.  Same  with  most  any- 
thing. I  call  that  a  fool  chance  to  take." 

Scipio's  perplexity  merged  into  a  mild  smile. 

"  I  wouldn't  jest  set  'em  into  boilin'  water,"  he  explained ; 
"  kind  of  warm,  with  a  bit  o'  soda." 

Sunny  approved. 

"  That  sure  don't  sound  too  bad,"  he  declared.  "  But  wot 
about  'em  gettin'  cold?  Takin'  all  that  dirt  off  sudden, 
y'see  — " 

"  He's  dosed  'em  wi'  cough  cure,"  broke  in  Toby. 

"Sure,"  agreed  Sunny.  "I'd  f  ergot—  Say"— he 
turned  to  the  doorway  and  craned  towards  it  — "  here's  — 
here's  Wild  Bill  coming  along." 

Toby  promptly  scrambled  up  from  the  door-sill  and  made 
way  for  the  Trust  president.  He  strode  into  the  room  with 
a  quick  glance  round  and  a  short,  harsh  "  Howdy  ?  "  for  the 
lesser  members  of  his  corporation.  His  manner  towards 
Scipio  was  no  less  unbending. 

And,  curiously  enough,  his  coming  silenced  all  further 
discussion.  Scipio  had  nothing  to  say  whatever,  and  the 
others  felt  that  here  was  their  leader  from  whom  they  must 
take  their  cue. 

Nor  was  it  long  in  coming.  Scipio  rose  and  offered  his 
chair  to  the  newcomer,  but  the  gambler  promptly  kicked  the 
proffered  seat  aside,  and  took  up  his  position  on  the  fuel- 
box.  He  glared  into  the  little  man's  face  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  opened  his  lips. 


252       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"Wai? "he  drawled. 

Scipio  stirred  uneasily. 

"  I'm  real  glad  to  see  you,  Bill,"  he  managed  to  mumble 
out.  "  I  ain't  got  no  rye  — " 

"  Rye  —  hell !  "  The  gambler  was  not  a  patient  man,  and 
the  laws  of  hospitality  interested  him  not  in  the  least. 
"  Say  " —  he  pointed  at  the  open  Bible  on  the  table  beside 
Sandy  — "  takin'  on  psalm-smitin'  ?  " 

Scipio  hurled  himself  into  the  breach. 

"  It's  them  regulations  Sunny  give  me  for  raisin'  the  kids. 
They  need  a  Bible  talk  after  their  bath.  I  bin  readin'  up 
some." 

A  momentary  twinkle  flashed  into  the  gambler's  eyes. 

"  Have  you  give  'em  their  bath  ?  "  he  demanded. 

Scipio  pointed  at  the  stove,  on  which  the  water  was  al- 
ready boiling. 

"  The  water's  cookin',"  he  said.  "  Guess  it's  most 
ready."  The  gambler  glanced  round  the  room  severely. 

"  Then  why  the  devil  is  you'se  fellers  settin'  around  ? 
Wher'sthetub?" 

"  Down  at  the  creek.  It's  the  wash-tub,"  Scipio  ex- 
plained, bestirring  himself.  The  other  men  stood  up  ready. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  Bill  had  taken  possession  of  the 
situation.  He  always  seemed  to  dominate  his  fellows. 
Now  he  caught  Scipio's  eye  and  held  him. 

"  Jest  gather  the  things  up  quick,"  he  said  authoritatively, 
''  an'  we'll  get  busy." 

And  as  Scipio  heaped  up  the  necessary  articles  for  the 
bath  on  the  table,  he  looked  on  with  the  keenest  interest. 
Finally  the  little  man  paused  beside  the  heap,  holding  in  his 
hand  the  box  of  water-softener,  which  he  was  eyeing  some- 
what doubtfully.  Bill's  eyes  still  twinkled. 

"  Wot's  that  ?  "  he  demanded  in  his  savage  way,  as  though 
he  had  never  seen  the  box  before. 

"  That?     Why,  that's  for  bathin',"  said  Scipio  doubtfully. 


A  BATH  AND—  253 

"  Y'see,  it's  a  fixin'  swell  ladies  in  Noo  York  an'  such  places 
use  for  makin'  their  baths  soft  an'  dandy.  Sunny  brought  it 
along  last  night.  He  guessed  it  would  be  elegant  for  the 
kids.  Y'see,  his  mother  sent  it  a  present  to  him.  He  didn't 
reckon  he  had  use  for  it,  seein'  he  took  his  bath  in  the  creek 
every  mornin'.  He  guessed  natural  water  was  best  for 
him." 

Bill  snorted. 

"  Sunny's  a  bright  lad,"  he  said,  while  Toby  softly  ex- 
ploded with  laughter  in  the  doorway. 

But  the  gambler  was  bent  on  the  purpose  in  hand,  and 
promptly  dismissed  the  loafer's  fairy-story  from  his  mind. 

"  Here,  get  around  and  bear  a  hand,"  he  cried,  indicating 
the  pile  on  the  table.  "  You,  Toby,  quit  laffin'  an'  git  a  holt 
on  them  clean  laundry.  An'  say,  don't  you  muss  'em  any. 
Sunny,  you  best  pile  up  them  washin'  fixin's  —  that  hand- 
scrubber,  the  soap,  that  wash-flannel  an'  the  towels.  Guess 
that's  the  nighest  you'll  ever  come  to  bathin'  yourself. 
Sandy  Joyce  ken  carry  the  hot  water,  an',  if  Zip's  yaller  pup 
gets  around,  see  you  don't  scald  him  any.  Guess  I'll  handle 
these  yer  dippers.  That  way  Zip'll  be  free  to  take  the  kids 
along.  After  they're  bathed  they  ken  set  around  in  the 
sun,  while  Zip  gives  'em  a  real  elegant  Bible  talk." 

The  whole  thing  was  simplicity  itself  in  the  capable  hands 
of  a  man  of  Bill's  energy.  But  for  his  advent  the  bath 
might  have  been  delayed  until  the  water  on  the  cookstove 
had  boiled  away.  What  with  Sandy's  love  of  debate  and 
Sunny's  indolence,  the  visit  of  these  men  might  have  been 
prolonged  for  hours.  As  it  was,  in  five  minutes  after  Bill's 
appearance  upon  the  scene  the  cortege  was  ready  to  set  out 
for  the  water's  edge;  and  not  only  ready,  but  more  than 
willing  to  submit  the  all-unconscious  twins  to  the  combina- 
tion of  their  inexperienced  efforts  in  matters  ablutionary. 
The  one  saving  clause  for  the  poor  little  creatures  was  the 
presence  of  their  father  and  a  man  of  practical  intelligence 


254       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

such  as  the  gambler.  How  they  might  have  fared  at  the 
hands  of  the  others  is  a  matter  best  not  contemplated  too 
closely. 

At  a  word  from  Wild  Bill  the  procession  set  out.  Scipio 
headed  it,  with  a  child  clinging  to  each  hand,  doddling  along 
at  his  side  all  blissfully  unconscious,  but  delighted  at  going 
whither  their  elders  led  them.  Vada  babbled  with  delight, 
and  kept  up  a  fire  of  chattering  questions  in  a  truly  feminine 
manner,  while  little  Jamie,  stolid  but  no  less  joyous,  de- 
voured everything  with  hungry,  thoughtful  eyes,  and  punc- 
tuated his  sister's  remarks  with  characteristic  grunts,  and  an 
occasional  emphatic  ejaculation  and  protest  at  the  yellow 
pup,  who  would  lick  his  dirty  legs. 

Behind  these  came  Sandy  Joyce,  the  picture  of  absurd 
dignity,  as  he  vainly  strove  to  carry  the  boiler  of  water  with- 
out scalding  himself.  Toby  came  immediately  behind  him, 
with  the  bundle  of  laundry,  a  tumbled  mass  in  his  arms, 
crushed  firmly  to  his  stout  chest,  lest,  by  any  ill-fate,  he 
should  drop  any  of  the  strange  garments,  which  looked  so 
absurdly  small  in  his  ignorant  eyes. 

Next  came  Sunny  with  the  cleansing  properties,  which  he 
carried  gingerly,  as  though  the  very  nature  of  them  were 
repugnant  to  him,  and  the  labor  of  carrying  them  an  offense 
to  his  creed  of  life.  The  soap  particularly  troubled  him. 
Its  slippery  nature  made  him  drop  it  several  times,  till  it 
seemed  almost  as  though  it  resented  him  personally,  and  was 
trying  to  escape  from  the  insult  of  such  association.  Wild 
Bill  brought  up  the  rear  of  the  column,  bearing  the  bright 
tin  dippers,  which  clattered  violently  as  they  swung  together 
on  their  string  loops.  He  suggested  nothing  so  much  as  a 
herder  driving  before  him  his  unusual  flock  by  the  aid  of  a 
violent  rattling  on  tin  cans. 

Solemnly  the  procession  wound  its  way  down  the  hill. 
Only  the  voices  of  the  children,  the  yapping  of  the  pup  and 
the  clatter  of  tinware  enlivened  the  journey.  The  men's 


A  BATH  AND—  255 

minds  were  engrossed  with  their  various  charges.  It  was 
serious  —  desperately  serious.  But  then,  a  bath  in  any 
form,  much  less  a  bath  of  two  small  children,  was  an  affair 
of  the  gravest  importance  to  these  men.  Then,  too,  there 
was  nervousness  with  it.  Everybody  felt  responsible,  from 
the  father  to  the  desperate  instigator  of  what  was,  in  their 
minds,  something  almost  amounting  to  an  outrage. 

However,  the  windings  and  roughnesses  of  the  path,  as  it 
twisted  its  way  through  the  scrubby  bushes  lining  the  creek 
bank,  were  finally  negotiated  more  or  less  satisfactorily. 
The  mishaps  were  not  as  great  as  might  have  been  antici- 
pated. Sandy  only  scalded  himself  twice,  and  his  curses 
had  to  be  stifled  by  a  sharp  reprimand  from  the  gambler. 
Toby  skidded  down  the  slope  once,  and  only  saved  the 
laundry  at  the  personal  expense  of  a  torn  shirt  and  a  grazed 
elbow.  Sunny,  except  for  his  difference  of  opinion  with  the 
soap,  enjoyed  no  other  mishap,  and  Bill's  only  transgression 
was  to  send  one  of  the  dippers,  amidst  a  volley  of  curses, 
hurtling  at  the  yellow  pup,  who  at  one  time  threatened  to  up- 
set all  Sandy's  dignity,  and  incidentally  the  boiling  water,  by 
getting  mixed  up  with  that  worthy  widower's  legs. 

The  halt  was  made  beside  the  wash-tub,  and  childish 
curiosity  promptly  asserted  itself. 

"  You  ain't  washin'  more  clothes,  poppa  ?  "  demanded 
Vada,  with  wide  questioning  eyes.  "  Ain't  this  Sunday  ?  " 

"  Pop-pa  wash  tothes,"  mumbled  Jamie. 

Sunny  took  it  upon  himself  to  put  the  matter  right  in  the 
small  minds.  He  beamed  upon  the  children. 

"  Poppa's  going  to  wash  you,"  he  said,  with  unction. 

"  Wot  for  ?  "  demanded  Vada.     "  We  ain't  done  nothin'." 

"  'Cos  you  needs  it,"  replied  the  loafer,  uncomfortably 
avoiding  the  blandly  questioning  eyes. 

"  Ugh  1 "  interjected  Jamie. 

"  We  ain't  as  dirty  as  you,"  said  Vada,  after  a  thoughtful 
pause. 


256       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Sunny  busied  himself  laying  out  the  utensils  on  the  grass- 
iest spot  he  could  find.  Toby  glanced  round  after  depositing 
the  laundry  department.  He  guffawed  loudly,  and  went  on 
with  his  work.  Sunny's  face  went  a  dirty  scarlet,  but  he  re- 
frained from  retort.  And  promptly  little  Vada  went  on. 

"  I  don't  want  bath,"  she  protested  plaintively.  And 
Jamie  chorused  in  with  a  grunt  of  agreement,  while  he 
busied  himself  trying  to  climb  up  the  sides  of  the  tub. 

Scipio  snatched  him  away,  and  looked  round  weakly  for 
support.  It  came  in  a  sharp  command  from  Bill,  who  had 
seated  himself  on  a  fallen  tree-trunk. 

"  Git  busy,"  he  ordered.  "  Set  that  doggone  water  in  the 
tub,  an'  Sunny  ken  dip  the  boiler  full  of  cold.  You  boys 
ken  do  that  while  Zip  gets  the  kids  ready.  Guess  he'll  likely 
know  best  wher'  the  strings  an'  buttons  is." 

His  orders  were  silently  executed  by  the  men.  But  the 
children  had  no  awe  of  the  gambler,  and  their  protests  were 
many  and  querulous.  However,  the  tub  was  filled  satisfac- 
torily, and  Scipio  finally  succeeded  in  fumbling  the  clothes 
off  the  children. 

It  was  a  curious  scene.  Scipio  moved  about  with  an  air 
of  the  mildest  perplexity.  Sunny  slouched  through  his 
work  as  though  it  were  the  hardest  of  labor,  although  he  was 
really  enjoying  himself.  Toby  was  grinning  all  over  his 
face  with  huge  enjoyment,  while  Sandy  performed  his  share 
with  such  an  aspect  of  care  that  his  labors  might  have  been 
of  an  absolutely  epoch-making  nature.  Bill  suggested 
simple  authority.  The  "  kids  "  must  be  bathed,  and  he  was 
going  to  see  it  done. 

When  all  preparations  had  been  made,  Scipio  became  the 
chief  operator,  and  each  man  took  up  his  position  where  best 
he  could  witness  the  process.  There  was  something  so 
mildly  stimulating  to  these  ruffians  in  observing  the  clumsy 
lavering  of  two  small  children.  They  all  appreciated  clean- 
liness in  theory ;  it  was  only  the  practice  that  they  were  un- 


A  BATH  AND—  257 

accustomed  to,  and  here  it  was  being  demonstrated  before 
their  interested  eyes.  They  watched  Scipio's  efforts  for 
some  moments  in  silence,  while  he,  with  gentle  persuasion, 
overcame  each  childish  protest.  He  did  it  in  such  a  kindly, 
patient  way  that  very  soon  these  small  atoms  of  humanity, 
sitting  facing  each  other  cross-legged  in  the  tub,  gained 
ample  confidence,  and  gave  expression  to  infantile  delight  by 
splashing  each  other  with  water,  and  incidentally  treating 
their  father  to  an  even  less  welcome  bath. 

They  laughed  and  crowed  and  chattered  while  their  father 
plied  the  house-flannel,  and  only  were  their  piping  voices 
quiet  at  such  moments  as  their  small  round  faces  were 
smothered  with  soap-suds,  or  lost  in  the  embracing  folds  of 
the  none  too  savory  cloth. 

But  on  the  part  of  the  spectators,  their  interest  would  not 
permit  of  long  silence.  And  it  was  Sandy  Joyce,  quite  irre- 
pressible where  advice  was  concerned,  who  found  it  neces- 
sary to  interfere. 

"  Ain't  you  rubbin'  'em  too  hard  ?  "  he  questioned,  after 
prolonged  cogitation. 

Scipio  turned  to  reply  in  the  midst  of  swabbing  Jamie's 
lower  limbs.  He  was  holding  one  foot  dangerously  high  in 
the  air,  and  the  movement  caused  him  to  upset  the  child's 
balance,  so  that  his  upper  part  promptly  disappeared  beneath 
the  frothing  suds.  A  wild  splashing  and  yell  from  Vada 
warned  her  father  of  the  threatened  tragedy,  and  Jamie  was 
hauled  up,  coughing  and  spluttering.  The  little  man,  with 
scared  face,  sought  at  once  to  pacify  the  frightened  child, 
while  Sunny  withered  the  interfering  widower  with  a  few 
well-chosen  words. 

"  Say,  you'd  butt  in  an'  tell  folk  they  wasn't  nailin'  up  your 
coffin  right,"  he  cried  angrily.  "  Will  you  kep  that  instru- 
ment o'  foolishness  o'  yours  quiet  f er  ten  minutes  ?  " 

Sandy  flushed. 

"  They  ain't  got  hides  like  hogs,"  he  grumbled.     "  They 


258       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

needs  handlin'  easy.  Say,  jest  look  what  he's  doin'  now. 
What's—" 

He  broke  off,  and  all  eyes  watched  Scipio's  movements  as 
he  turned  Jamie  over,  and,  supporting  his  dripping  body 
in  the  crook  of  his  arm,  plied  the  flannel  upon  the  boy's 
back.  The  moment  was  a  tense  one.  Then  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief went  up  as  the  child  dropped  back  in  the  water  with  a 
splash. 

"  I  ain't  never  see  kids  handled  that  way,"  cried  the  dis- 
gusted Sandy,  unable  to  keep  silence  any  longer.  Then,  as 
no  one  seemed  inclined  to  question  his  statement,  he  went 
on,  "  Wot  I  sez  is,  kids  needs  women-folk  to  do  they  things 
right.  Zip's  handlin'  'em  like  raw  beef."  Then  he  turned 
on  Sunny,  whose  rebuke  was  still  rankling.  "  Guess  you'll 
say  he  ain't  —  bein'  contrary.  Now,  ef  I  was  washin'  'em, 
I'd—" 

"Shut  up,"  cried  Wild  Bill  harshly.  Then  he  added, 
with  biting  sarcasm,  "  I  ain't  surprised  you're  a  widder- 
man." 

Toby  made  no  attempt  to  disguise  his  laughter,  and  it 
maddened  the  unfortunate  Sandy;  and  if  a  look  coul f  have 
killed,  Sunny  would  have  died  grinning.  However,  the 
widower  sheltered  himself  in  the  silence  demanded  of  him 
until  the  children  were  lifted  out  of  the  tub  and  dried  by 
their  patient  father.  Nor  did  he  even  attempt  to  further 
interfere  while  their  parent  struggled  them  into  their  little 
woolen  undershirts. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

—  A  BIBLE  TALK 

IT  was  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  Scipio  now  turned  to 
Wild  Bill.  Somehow,  he  naturally  looked  to  him  for 
guidance.  Nor  did  he  quite  know  why. 

"  'Bout  that  Bible  talk  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  Guess  you  said 
they  best  set  around  in  the  sun." 

Bill  nodded. 

"  I  sure  did.  Guess  they  kind  o'  need  airin'  some. 
'Tain't  no  use  in  settin'  in  their  clothes  damp;  they'll  be 
gettin'  sick,  sure.  Ther's  a  dandy  bit  o'  grass  right  here. 
Best  set  'em  down,  an'  get  around  an'  hand  'em  your  talk." 

But  the  worried  father  pushed  his  weedy  hair  off  his 
forehead  with  a  troubled  air. 

"  I  haven't  read  up  a  deal,"  he  apologized. 

The  gambler  promptly  swept  his  objection  aside. 

"  That  don't  figger  any.  Once  you  get  goin'  you  won't 
find  no  trouble.  It's  dead  easy  after  you're  started.  That's 
the  way  it  is  with  passons.  They  jest  get  a  holt  of  a  notion, 
an'  then  —  why,  they  jest  yarn." 

"  I  see,"  replied  Scipio  doubtfully,  while  the  other  men 
gathered  round.  "  But,"  he  went  on  more  weakly  still, 
"'bout  that  notion?" 

Bill  stirred  impatiently. 

"  That's  it.     You  start  right  in  with  the  notion." 

"  Course,"  cried  Sandy.  "  The  notion's  easy.  Why, 
ther's  heaps  o'  things  you  ken  take  as  a  notion.  Say,  wa'an't 
ther'  a  yarn  'bout  some  blamed  citizen  what  took  to  a  cave, 
an'  the  checkens  an'  things  got  busy  feedin'  him?  " 


260       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  Ravens,"  said  Sunny.  , 

"Ravens  nuthin',"  cried  the  indignant  Sandy. 
"  Checkens  of  the  air,  they  was." 

Sunny  shrugged. 

"  That  ain't  no  sort  o'  Bible  talk,  anyway,"  he  protested. 
"  You  need  suthin'  what  gives  'em  a  lesson.  Now,  ther's 
Nore  an'  his  floatin*  ranch  — " 

"  That  wa'an't  a  ranch  neither,"  contradicted  Sandy 
promptly.  "  It  was  jest  a  barn." 

"  Ark,"  said  Toby. 

"Wai,  ark  then,"  admitted  Sandy.  He  didn't  mind 
Toby's  interference. 

But  the  discussion  was  allowed  to  go  no  further.  Bill's 
impatience  manifested  itself  promptly. 

"  Say,  it  don't  matter  a  cuss  whether  it  was  an  ark  or  a 
barn  or  a  ranch.  Sunny's  yarn  goes.  Now,  jest  set  around 
an'  git  the  kids  in  the  middle,  an'  you,  Zip,  git  busy  with 
this  Nore  racket." 

The  last  authority  had  given  its  decision.  There  was  no 
more  to  be  said,  and  the  matter  was  promptly  proceeded 
with.  The  expectant  children,  who  had  stood  by  listening 
to  the  discussion  of  their  elders,  were  now  seated  on  the 
grass,  and  before  them  sat  the  board  of  Scriptural  instruc- 
tion. Bill  remained  in  his  position  on  the  tree-trunk.  On 
the  ground,  cross-legged,  sat  Scipio,  on  his  right.  Sunny 
lounged  full  length  upon  the  ground  next  to  him.  Sandy 
and  Toby  formed  the  other  horn  of  the  half-circle  on  the 
gambler's  left. 

It  was  a  quaint  picture  upon  which  the  warm  noon  sun 
shone  down.  The  open  grass  clearing,  surrounded  with 
tall  dense  bushes.  On  one  side  the  wash-tub  and  the  vari- 
ous appurtenances  of  the  bath,  with  the  creek  a  little  v/ay 
beyond.  And  in  the  open,  sitting  alone,  side  by  side,  their 
little  pink  bodies  bare  of  all  but  their  coarse  woolen  under- 
shirts, their  little  faces  shining  with  wholesome  soap,  their 


—  A  BIBLE  TALK  261 

eyes  bright  with  expectancy  for  the  story  that  was  to  come, 
the  two  pretty  children  of  a  lonely  father.  Then,  in  a 
semicircle  about  them,  the  members  of  the  Trust,  with  their 
hard,  unclean  faces,  their  rough  clothes  and  rougher  man- 
ners, and  their  uncultured  minds  driven  by  hearts  that  were 
—  well,  just  human. 

"Git  busy,"  ordered  Bill,  when  the  Trust  had  finally 
settled  itself. 

And  promptly  Scipio,  with  more  determination  than  dis- 
cretion, cleared  his  throat  and  plunged  into  his  peroration. 

His  mild  face  beamed.  Gentleness  and  affection  shone  in 
every  line  of  it.  And  somehow  his  diffidence,  the  realiza- 
tion of  his  ignorance  of  the  work  demanded  of  him,  were 
absorbed  and  lost  to  his  consciousness  in  the  wonderful 
parental  delight  of  teaching  his  offspring. 

"  Say,  kiddies,"  he  began,  with  that  soft  inflection  that 
seems  so  much  a  part  of  some  men  of  rough  manners,  "  I 
want  you  to  listen  careful  to  a  yarn  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you 
about.  Y'see— " 

He  hesitated,  and  unconsciously  one  hand  was  lifted  and 
passed  across  his  brow  with  a  movement  that  suggested 
puzzlement.  It  was  as  though  he  were  not  quite  sure 
whither  his  story  were  going  to  lead  him. 

The  gambler  nodded  encouragingly. 

"  Bully,"  he  murmured,  turning  his  eyes  just  for  one 
moment  in  the  little  man's  direction.  But  it  was  only  for 
a  moment.  The  next  he  was  staring  absorbedly  out  at  the 
bush  opposite,  like  a  man  lost  in  some  train  of  thought  far 
removed  from  the  matter  in  hand.  His  beady  eyes  stared 
unsmilingly,  but  with  curious  intentness. 

However,  Scipio  was  far  too  much  concerned  with  what 
lay  before  him  to  think  of  anything  else.  But  the  sharply 
spoken  encouragement  spurred  him.  and  he  went  ahead. 

"  Now,  maybe  you  both  heard  tell  how  God  made  this 
funny  old  world  for  us  to  live  in,"  he  went  on,  endeavoring 


262       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

to  give  lightness  to  his  manner.  "He  made  Sufferin' 
Creek,  too—" 

Toby  coughed,  and  Sandy  whispered  audibly  to  him. 

"  I  don't  guess  Zip  ought  to  run  Sufferin'  Creek  in  this 
yarn,"  he  said  seriously.  "  Sufferin'  Creek  don't  seem 
right  in  a  Bible  talk." 

Scipio  waited,  and  then,  ignoring  the  comment,  labored 
clumsily  on. 

"  Now,  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  a  yarn  about  it.  Y'see, 
kiddies  —  y'see,  ther'  weren't  a  heap  o'  folk  around  when 
God  first  fixed  things  right — " 

"Jest  one  man  an'  a  snake,"  interrupted  Sandy  in  his 
informative  way. 

"  Shut  up,"  whispered  Toby,  prodding  him  with  his  el- 
bow. Sandy  scowled,  but  remained  silent. 

"  Wai,"  continued  Scipio,  "  as  I  was  say  in',  He  jest  made 
one  sort  o'  sample  man  an'  a  snake.  An',"  he  added,  sud- 
denly brightening  under  inspiration,  "  He  sot  'em  in  a 
garden,  an'  called  it  the  Garden  of  Eden." 

Little  Vada  suddenly  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Yes,  an'  it  was  all  flowers  an' —  an'  fruit,"  she  cried 
ecstatically. 

Jamie's  eyes  were  dancing  with  delight,  too,  but  he  re- 
mained silent,  waiting  for  developments. 

The  members  of  the  Trust  looked  on  with  the  deepest 
interest.  Each  man's  face  wore  a  half-smile  —  that  is,  all 
except  the  gambler's,  who  still  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in 
his  own  thought  —  and  the  bush  opposite.  But  the  interest 
of  these  men  was  less  in  the  little  man's  story  than  in  a 
speculation  as  to  when  he  was  going  to  break  down,  and 
yield  his  tutelary  attitude  before  a  battery  of  infantile  ques- 
tions. 

However,  Scipio  was  still  in  a  fairly  strong  position. 

"  Well,"  he  agreed,  "  I  do  guess  ther'  was  fruit  ther',  but 
I  don't  guess  it  was  a  fruit  ranch  exactly.  Maybe  it  was 


—  A  BIBLE  TALK  263 

sort  of  mixed  farmin'.  Howsum,  that  don't  matter  a  heap. 
Y'see,  ther'  was  heaps  an'  heaps  of  animals,  an'  bugs,  an' 
spiders,  an'  things  —  an'  jest  one  man." 

"  Ther'  was  a  woman,"  corrected  the  irrepressible  Sandy. 
"That's  dead  sure.  They  got  busy  on  one  of  the  man's 
ribs  an'  made  her.  Ain't  that  so,  Toby  ?  " 

»He  turned  to  the  squat  figure  beside  him  for  corrobora- 
tion,  but  Sunny  took  up  the  matter  from  across  the  semi- 
circle. 

"  You're  a  wise  guy,"  he  exclaimed  scornfully.  "  Can't 
you  kep  from  buttin'  in  ?  Say,  I'd  hate  to  know  sech  a  heap 
as  you." 

Just  for  an  instant  Wild  Bill  turned  his  sharp  eyes  on  his 
companions. 

"  Shut  up  you'se  all,"  he  cried.  And  promptly  Scipio 
was  allowed  to  continue  his  story. 

"  Now,  'bout  that  garden,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  Y'see, 
God  told  that  feller  he  wasn't  to  pick  no  fruit.  Y'see,  I 
guess  it  was  needed  fer  cannin'  or  preservin'.  Maybe  it 
was  needed  for  makin'  elegant  candy.  I  don't  know 
rightly—" 

"  You're  talkin'  foolish,"  exclaimed  Sandy,  jumping  up 
excitedly.  "  Cannin'?  "  he  cried  scornfully.  "  They  didn't 
can  fruit  them  days." 

"  Maybe  you're  right,"  said  Scipio  apologetically. 

"  I  know  I  am,"  snorted  Sandy. 

"  Then  shut  up,"  cried  Bill,  without  turning  his  head. 

"  Anyhow,"  went  on  Scipio,  when  all  argument  had 
ceased,  "  it  was  jest  up  to  that  feller  not  to  pick  that  fruit. 
An'  he  didn't  mean  to  neither,  only  he  got  kind  o'  friendly 
with  that  snake — " 

Little  Vada  jumped  up. 

"  I  know  —  I  know,"  she  cried,  in  the  wildest  excitement. 
"  The  snake  made  him  eat  an  apple,  an'  then  the  rain  came 
down,  an'  poured  an'  poured — " 


264       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  Poured  an'  poured,"  echoed  Jamie,  jumping  to  his  feet 
and  dancing  around  his  sister. 

"  That's  so,"  admitted  Scipio,  in  relief. 

"  Poured  nothing"  murmured  Sandy  under  his  breath. 
"  He's  messin'  up  the  whole  yarn." 

But  as  his  comment  didn't  reach  the  father's  ears  he  went 
on  placidly. 

"  Wai,  the  rain  poured  down,"  he  said,  "  so  they  was  nigh 
drownded  — " 

"  Why'd  the  rain  turn  ?  "  suddenly  inquired  Jamie  with 
interest. 

"  Ah ! "  murmured  Scipio.  Then  he  added  brightly, 
"  Because  he  picked  the  fruit." 

"  Y'see,"  explained  Vada,  with  sisterly  patronage,  "  he 
didn't  orter  picked  the  apple." 

Jamie  nodded  without  understanding. 

"  'Ess." 

"  Wai,"  went  on  Scipio,  taking  advantage  of  the  pause, 
"  he  was  nigh  drownded,  an'  he  had  to  swim  an'  swim,  an' 
then  he  built  himself  a  ranch." 

"  Barn,"  cried  Sandy,  unable  to  keep  quiet  any  longer. 
"  It  was  a  barn  to  kep  his  stock  in." 

"  Ark,"  said  Toby  decidedly.  "  He  built  a  Nore's  Ark  — 
same  as  toys  kiddies  plays  with." 

"  But  Bill  said  Sunny's  yarn  goes,"  protested  the  troubled 
Scipio.  And,  receiving  an  affirmatory  nod  from  the  pre- 
occupied gambler,  he  went  on.  "  Wai,  he  set  that  ranch 
afloat,  an'  put  out  a  boat  an'  rescued  all  the  other  animals, 
an'  bugs,  an'  spiders,  an'  things,  an'  then  set  out  a  duck  to 
see  how  things  was  going — " 

"  Not  a  duck,  Zip,"  said  Sunny,  shaking  his  head  sorrow- 
fully. 

"  Course  not,"  agreed   Sandy  scornfully. 

"  Pigeon,"  suggested  Toby. 

But  little  Vada  saved  the  situation.     She  jumped  to  her 


—  A  BIBLE  TALK  265 

feet,  dragging  Jamie  with  her.  Her  dark  eyes  were  shin- 
ing, and  her  round  little  cheeks  were  scarlet  with  excite- 
ment. 

"  It  wasn't  a  duck,  nor  a  pigeon,  nor  nothin'  but  a  parrot," 
she  declared.  "  Momma  told  us.  He  sent  out  a  parrot ;  an' 
it  flew,  an'  flew,  an'  flew.  An'  then  it  come  back  to  the 
ark,  carryin'  a  tree  in  its  beak.  An'  then  Nore  knew  there 
wasn't  no  more  rain,  nor  nothing,  an'  they  turned  his  wife, 
into  a  pillow  o'  salt  'cos  she'd  made  him  eat  the  apple.  An', 
pop-pa,  tell  us  another." 

"  'Ess,  a  nudder,"  cried  Jamie,  his  chubby  fat  legs 
wabbling  under  him  as  he  danced  about  — "  a  nudder  —  a 
nudder  —  a  nud  — " 

But  his  lisping  request  was  never  completed,  for,  without 
a  word  of  warning,  Wild  Bill  suddenly  leapt  from  his  seat, 
and,  with  a  wave  of  his  arm,  swept  the  two  children  sprawl- 
ing into  their  father's  lap,  while  he  charged  across  the 
clearing.  Just  for  a  fraction  of  a  second  he  paused  as  he 
closed  on  the  bush  he  had  so  long  contemplated,  and  his 
friends  heard  his  voice  in  a  furious  oath. 

"  You  son  of  a  — !  "  he  roared ;  and  simultaneously  there 
was  a  flash  and  a  sharp  report  from  his  gun  —  another,  and 
yet  another.  Then  he  vanished  into  the  bush,  his  smoking 
revolver  still  in  his  hand  ready  for  use,  followed,  with  no 
less  speed,  by  Toby  and  Sandy  Joyce. 

For  a  moment  Scipio  stared;  but  Sunny  Oak  seemed  to 
grasp  something  of  the  situation.  He  flung  himself  before 
the  two  children,  his  right  hand  gripping  a  revolver  which 
he  always  carried  concealed  amongst  his  rags.  And  at  the 
same  moment  the  gambler's  voice  came  back  to  him. 

"  Huyk  them  kids  right  back  to  the  store,  an'  kep  'em 
there ! "  it  cried.  And  instantly  the  indolent  loafer,  with  a 
movement  almost  electrical  in  its  swiftness,  seized  Vada  in 
his  arms  and  dashed  off  up  the  hill,  followed  by  the  little 
father,  bearing  the  screaming  Jamie  in  his. 


266       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Inside  the  bush  the  three  men  searched,  with  eyes  and 
ears  alert  in  the  fashion  of  furious  terriers.     The  branches 
and  inner  leaves  were  spattered  with  blood,  showing  that! 
the  gambler's  shots  had  taken  some  effect.     The  ground, 
too,  was  covered  with  footprints. 

With  a  rush  Bill  set  off  trailing  the  latter,  and  so  soft  was 
the  ground  that  he  had  little  or  no  difficulty  in  the  matter. 
The  trail  took  them  along  the  creek  bank,  and  here  and 
there  a  splash  of  blood  warned  them  that  their  quarry  was 
severely  wounded. 

But,  even  so,  they  were  doomed  to  disappointment. 
Thirty  yards  from  the  clearing  they  came  to  a  spot  where 
the  moist  soil  was  well  beaten  with  horse's  hoofs,  and  here 
the  human  footprints  ended.  All  three  men  stared  out 
down  the  creek.  And  then  it  was  that  another  furious  oath 
escaped  the  gambler's  lips,  as  he  beheld  a  racing  horseman 
making  good  his  escape,  more  than  a  hundred  yards  below 
them. 

For  some  moments  Wild  Bill  stood  raging  impotently. 
Then  he  turned  on  his  companions,  with  a  perfect  devil 
glaring  out  of  his  ferocious  eyes. 

"  God's  curse  light  on  'em ! "  he  roared.  "  It's  James' 
gang.  May  his  soul  rot.  I'll  get  'em!  I'll  get  'em! 
They're  after  those  kids.  But,  by  the  wall-eyed  Mackinaw, 
they  shan't  touch  a  hair  o'  their  heads  as  long  as  I'm  a  livin' 
man.  It's  war,  boys!  D'ye  hear?  It's  him  an'  me.  Me 
—  an'  James !  An'  I  swar  to  God  he'll  go  down  an'  out  as 
sure  as  my  name's  Wild  Bill ! " 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WILD   BILL   FIRES   A   BOMB 

WHEN  Wild  Bill  returned  to  his  hut  later  on  in  the  after- 
noon he  was  consumed  by  a  cold,  hard  rage,  such  as  comes 
but  rarely  in  the  life  of  any  man.  There  was  no  demon- 
strativeness :  he  had  no  words  to  give  it  expression.  It  was 
the  rage  of  a  man  who  coldly,  calmly  collects  every  faculty 
of  brain  and  body  into  one  great  concentration  for  harm  to 
its  object.  It  was  a  moment  when  every  evil  thought  and 
feeling  was  drawn  into  a  cruel  longing  for  harm  —  harm 
calculated  to  be  of  the  most  merciless  description. 

Neither  of  the  companions  who  had  joined  him  in  the 
pursuit  of  the  man  they  had  discovered  lurking  down  at  the 
river  had  any  real  understanding  of  what  lay  in  the  back  of 
the  gambler's  mind.  His  outburst  there  had  been  the  first 
volcanic  rage  which  had  lit  the  fires  of  hate  now  burning 
so  deep  down  in  his  intolerant  heart.  That  outburst  they 
had  understood.  That  was  the  man  as  they  knew  him. 
But  this  other  man  they  knew  nothing  of.  This  was  the 
real  man  who  returned  to  his  hut,  silent  and  ghastly,  with 
implacable  hatred  burning  in  his  heart. 

All  three  had  hurriedly  and  silently  returned  to  the  store 
from  their  futile  chase.  Bill  offered  no  explanation,  and  his 
manner  was  so  forbidding  that  even  the  intrepid  Sandy  had 
found  no  use  for  the  questions  he  would  so  gladly  have 
put. 

When  they  arrived,  Scipio  and  Sunny,  with  the  twins,  had 
reached  the  place  just  before  them.  But  they  were  lost 
sight  of  in  the  rush  that  was  made  to  tell  the  gambler  of  the 


268       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

happenings  at  Sid  Morton's  ranch.  Nor  had  he  any  choice 
but  to  listen  to  the  luridly  narrated  facts.  However,  his 
choice  did  fall  in  with  their  desires,  and,  after  the  first 
brief  outline,  told  with  all  the  imagination  this  varied  collec- 
tion of  beings  was  capable  of,  he  found  himself  demanding, 
as  eagerly  as  they  were  waiting  to  tell,  every  detail  of  the 
matter,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  examine  the  body  of  the 
dead  rancher,  roughly  laid  out  in  the  barn  on  a  bed  of  hay. 
He  listened  almost  without  comment,  which  was  unusual  in 
him.  His  manner  displayed  no  heat.  He  was  cold,  critical, 
and  his  only  words  were  to  ask  sharp  and  definitely  pointed 
questions.  Then,  having  given  Minky  instructions  for  the 
safeguarding  of  the  children,  he  departed  without  even  men- 
tioning his  own  adventure  down  at  the  river. 

But  if  he  neglected  to  do  so,  it  was  otherwise  with  his 
friends,  the  other  members  of  the  Trust.  The  moment  his 
back  was  turned  they  shed  the  story  broadcast,  each  man 
competing  with  the  other  in  his  endeavor  to  make  it  thor- 
oughly palatable  to  the  sensation-loving  ears  of  their  fellow- 
townsmen.  And  probably  of  them  all  Sandy  was  the  most 
successful. 

In  half-an-hour,  loyally  supported  by  his  friends,  he  had 
the  whole  of  Suffering  Creek  strung  to  such  a  pitch  of  nerv- 
ous excitement  that  every  man  was  set  looking  to  his  fire- 
arms, and  all  talk  was  directed  towards  the  most  adequate 
means  of  defending  their  homes  and  property. 

In  the  briefest  possible  time,  from  a  peaceful,  industrious 
camp,  Suffering  Creek  was  transformed  into  a  war  base, 
every  citizen  stirred  not  only  to  defense  of  his  own,  but 
with  a  longing  to  march  out  to  the  fray,  to  seek  these  land 
pirates  in  the  open  and  to  exterminate  them,  as  they  would 
willingly  exterminate  any  other  vermin. 

Men  talked  war.  Brains  were  feverishly  racked  for 
strategy,  and  for  historical  accounts  of  a  similiar  situation  in 
which  a  town  rose  to  arms  and  took  the  law  into  its  own 


WILD  BILL  FIRES  A  BOMB  269 

hands.  Stones  flew  from  lip  to  lip,  and,  as  is  usual  under 
such  stress,  so  did  the  convivial  glass. 

And  the  result  which  followed  was  quite  in  keeping  with 
the  occasion.  Quarrels  and  bickerings  occurred,  which  kept 
the  place  at  fever-heat  until  the  store  closed  down  for  the 
night  and  the  supply  of  liquor  was  cut  off.  Then  slumber 
brought  its-  beneficent  opiate  to  distracted  nerves. 

Throughout  it  all  Minky  kept  his  head  level.  Whatever 
he  felt  and  thought,  he  had  nothing  to  offer  on  the  altar  of 
public  suggestion.  He  knew  that  of  all  these  irresponsible 
debators  he  had  the  most  to  lose.  Nor  did  he  feel  inclined 
to  expose  anything  of  the  risk  at  which  he  stood.  It  was  a 
depressing  time  for  him,  so  depressing  that  he  could  see  very 
little  hope.  His  risk  was  enormous.  He  felt  that  the  prob- 
ability was  that  this  raiding  gang  were  well  enough  posted 
as  to  the  store  of  gold  he  held  in  his  cellars.  He  felt  that, 
should  James  or  any  of  his  people  decide  upon  a  coup,  the 
attack  would  be  well  timed,  when  the  miners  were  out  at 
their  work,  and  he  and  the  camp  generally  were  left  de- 
fenseless. 

What  could  he  do?  He  must  rid  himself  of  the  "  dust " 
somehow.  He  must  dispose  of  it  secretly.  A  hiding  — 
that  seemed  to  him,  amidst  his  trouble,  to  be  the  only  thing. 
But  where?  That  was  the  thing.  He  must  consult  Bill. 
To  his  mind  Bill  was  the  only  man  upon  whom  he  could 
place  any  real  reliance,  upon  whose  judgment  he  could  de- 
pend. So,  with  his  shrewd  eyes  ever  on  the  watch  for 
strangers  amongst  his  customers,  he  longed  for  the  hours  to 
pass  until  he  could  close  his  store  and  seek  the  gambler  in 
his  hut. 

In  the  meantime  Wild  Bill  had  cut  himself  off  from  his 
fellows,  spending  the  long  evening  hours  in  the  solitude  of 
his  humble  dwelling.  The  man  was  strangely  calm,  but  his 
fierce  eyes  and  pale  face  told  of  an  enormous  strain  of 
thought  driving  him.  His  mind  was  sweeping  along  over  a 


270      THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

series  of  vivid  pictures  of  past  events,  mixed  up  with  equally 
vivid  and  strongly  marked  scenes  of  possible  events  to  come. 
He  was  reviewing  silently,  sternly,  a  situation  which,  by 
some  extraordinary  kink  in  his  vanity,  he  felt  it  was  for  him 
to  assume  the  responsibility  of.  He  felt,  although  with  no 
feeling  of  pride,  that  he,  and  he  alone,  could  see  it 
through. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  was  that,  by  some  strange  mental 
process,  James'  doings  —  his  approach  to  the  camp,  in  fact 
his  very  existence  —  had  somehow  become  a  direct  in- 
dividual challenge  to  him.  Without  acknowledging  it  to 
himself,  he  in  some  subtle  way  understood  that  everything 
this  desperado  did  was  a  challenge  to  him  —  a  sneering, 
contemptuous  challenge  to  him.  James  was  metaphorically 
snapping  his  fingers  under  his  very  nose. 

That  these  were  his  feelings  was  undeniable.  That  the 
thoughts  of  the  possibilities  of  an  attack  on  the  camp  were 
the  mainspring  of  his  antagonism  to  the  man,  that  this  volun- 
tary guardianship  of  Scipio  and  his  twins  was  the  source  of 
his  rage  against  him,  it  was  impossible  to  believe.  They 
may  have  influenced  him  in  a  small  degree,  but  only  in  a 
small  degree.  The  man  was  cast  in  a  very  different  mold 
from  that  of  a  simple  philanthropist.  It  was  the  man's 
vanity,  the  headstrong  vanity  of  a  strong  and  selfish  man, 
that  drove  him.  And  as  he  sat  silently  raging  under  his 
thoughts  of  the  happenings  of  that  day,  had  he  put  his  para- 
mount feelings  into  words  he  would  have  demanded  how 
James  dared  to  exist  in  a  district  which  he,  Wild  Bill  of 
Abilene,  had  made  his  own. 

He  spent  the  evening  sitting  on  his  bed  or  pacing  his  little 
hut,  his  thoughts  tumbling  headlong  through  his  brain.  He 
found  himself  almost  absently  inspecting  his  armory,  and 
loading  and  unloading  his  favorite  weapons.  There  was  no 
definite  direction  in  anything  he  thought  or  did,  unless  it 
were  in  the  overwhelming  hatred  against  James  which 


WILD  BILL  FIRES  A  BOMB  271 

colored  his  every  feeling.  Without  realizing  it,  every  force 
of  mind  and  body  was  seeking  inspiration. 

And  the  evening  was  well-nigh  spent  before  inspiration 
came.  Careless  of  time,  of  everything  but  his  feelings,  he 
had  finally  flung  himself  full  length  upon  his  bed,  brain- 
weary  and  resourceless.  Then  came  the  change.  As  his 
head  touched  the  pillow  it  almost  seemed  to  rebound;  and 
he  found  himself  sitting  up  again  glaring  at  the  opposite 
wall  with  the  desired  inspiration  in  his  gimlet  eyes. 

"  Gee !  "  he  breathed,  with  a  force  that  sent  the  exclama- 
tion hissing  through  the  room. 

And  for  an  hour  his  attitude  remained  unchanged.  His 
legs  were  drawn  up  and  his  long  arms  were  clasped  about 
his  knees.  His  eyes  were  fiercely  focused  upon  a  cartridge- 
belt  hanging  upon  the  wall,  and  there  they  remained,  seem- 
ingly a  fixture,  while  thought,  no  longer  chaotic,  flew 
through  his  revivified  brain.  He  gave  no  sign;  he  uttered 
no  word.  But  his  face  told  its  story  of  a  fiendish  joy  which 
swept  from  his  head  to  his  heart,  and  thrilled  his  whole  body. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  that  he  received  a  visit  from 
his  friend  Minky.  And  the  moment  the  door  opened  in 
response  to  his  summons  the  look  in  his  eyes,  when  he  saw 
who  his  visitor  was,  was  a  cordial  welcome.  He  swung 
round  and  dropped  his  legs  over  the  side  of  his  bunk. 

"What's  the  time?"  he  demanded. 

Minky  pointed  to  the  alarm-clock  on  the  gambler's  table. 

"  Nigh  one  o'clock,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  smile. 

But  Bill  ignored  the  quiet  sarcasm. 

"  Good,"  he  cried.  Then  he  brought  his  eyes  to  the 
other's  face.  They  were  literally  blazing  with  suppressed 
excitement.  There  was  something  in  them,  too,  that  lifted 
Minky  out  of  his  desperate  mood.  Somehow  they  sug- 
gested hope  to  him.  Somehow  the  very  presence  of  this 
man  had  a  heartening  effect. 

"  Say,"  cried  the  gambler  in  a  tone  that  thrilled  with 


272       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

power,  "  this  is  Sunday.  Monday,  Tuesday,  Wednesday," 
he  counted  the  days  off  on  his  lean,  muscular  ringers. 
"  That's  it,  sure.  Wednesday  we  send  out  a  '  stage,'  an* 
you're  goin'  to  ship  your  gold-dust  on  it.  You'll  ship  it 
to  Spawn  City.  Meanwhiles  you'll  buy  up  all  you  feel  like. 
Clean  the  camp  out  of  l  dust/  an'  ship  it  by  that  stage." 

The  storekeeper  stared.  For  a  moment  he  thought  his 
friend  had  taken  leave  of  his  senses.  A  scathing  refusal 
hovered  on  his  lips.  But  the  words  never  matured.  He 
was  looking  into  the  man's  burning  eyes,  and  he  realized 
that  a  big  purpose  lay  behind  his  words. 

"  An',"  he  inquired,  with  a  smile  from  which  he  could 
not  quite  shut  out  the  irony,  "  an'  whose  goin'  to  —  drive  it 
through  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

The  storekeeper  jumped  and  his  eyes  widened.  He 
started  forward.  Then  he  checked  himself.  He  struggled 
with  a  sudden  emotion. 

"  You ? "  he  cried  in  a  sharp  whisper.  "I  —  I  don't  get 
you." 

The  gambler  leapt  to  his  feet.  He  strode  down  the  length 
of  the  hut  and  came  back  again.  He  finally  paused  before 
his  bewildered  friend. 

"  No,  o'  course  you  don't,"  he  cried  hotly ;  "  course  you 
don't.  Here,  how  much  '  dust '  ken  you  ship  ?  " 

"  Maybe  we'd  need  to  ship  sixty  thousand  dollars'  worth. 
That  is,  if  we  rake  around  among  the  boys." 

Minky  watched  his  man  closely  as  he  spoke.  He  was 
still  doubting,  but  he  was  ready  enough  to  be  convinced. 
He  knew  it  was  no  use  asking  too  many  questions.  Wild 
Bill  hated  questions.  He  watched  the  latter  plunge  a 
hand  into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat  and  draw  out  a  book. 
He  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  it  as  the  gambler  flung  it 
on  the  table  with  a  force  that  set  the  lamp  rattling. 

"  There  it  is,"  he  cried,  with  a  fierce  oath.     "  Ther's  my 


WILD  BILL  FIRES  A  BOMB  273 

bank-book.  Ther's  seventy  odd  thousand  dollars  lyin'  in 
the  Spawn  City  bank  to  my  dogasted  credit.  See  ?  "  He 
glared ;  then  he  drew  a  step  nearer  and  bent  forward.  "  I'm 
handin'  you  a  check  fer  your  dust,"  he  went  on.  "  I've 
seventy  thousand  dollars  says  I'm  a  better  man  than  James 
an'  all  his  rotten  scum,  an*  that  I'm  goin'  to  shoot  him  to 
hell  before  the  week's  out.  Now  d'ye  get  me  ?  " 

Minky  gasped.  He  had  always  believed  he  had  long 
since  fathomed  the  depths  of  his  wild  friend.  He  had  al- 
ways believed  that  the  gambler  had  no  moods  which  were 
not  well  known  to  him.  He  had  seen  him  under  almost 
every  condition  of  stress.  Yet  here  was  a  side  to  his  char- 
acter he  had  never  even  dreamed  of,  and  he  was  flabber- 
gasted. 

For  a  moment  he  had  no  words  with  which  to  adequately 
reply,  and  he  merely  shook  his  head.  Instantly  the  other 
flew  into  one  of  his  savage  paroxysms  by  which  it  was  so 
much  his  habit  to  carry  through  his  purpose  when  ob- 
structed. 

"  You  stand  there  shakin'  your  fool  head  like  some  mosey 
old  cow,"  he  cried,  with  a  ruddy  flush  suddenly  mounting 
to  his  temples.  "  An'  you'll  go  on  shakin'  it  till  ther'  ain't 
'  dust '  enuff  in  your  store  to  bury  a  louse.  You'll  go  on 
shakin'  it  till  James'  gun  rips  out  your  vitals.  Gee ! "  He 
threw  his  arms  above  his  head  appealing.  "  Give  me  a 
man,"  he  cried.  Then  he  brought  one  fist  crashing  down 
upon  the  table  and  shouted  his  final  words :  "  Say,  you'll 
get  right  out  an'  post  the  notices.  I'm  buyin'  your  '  dust/ 
an'  I'm  driving  the  stage." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WILD  BILL  INSPECTS  HIS  CLAIM 

SUFFERING  CREEK  awoke  on  the  Monday  morning  labor- 
ing under  a  hideous  depression  of  nightmare.  There  was 
no  buoyancy  in  the  contemplation  of  the  day's  "  prospect." 
It  was  as  though  that  wholesome  joy  of  life  which  belongs 
to  the  "  outdoor  "  man  had  suddenly  been  snatched  away, 
and  only  the  contemplation  of  a  dull  round  of  unprofitable 
labor  had  been  left  for  the  burdened  mind  to  dwell  upon. 

It  was  in  this  spirit  that  Joe  Brand  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
pulled  on  his  moleskin  trousers.  It  was  in  this  spirit  that 
the  miner,  White,  slouching  along  to  the  store  for  breakfast, 
saw  and  greeted  him. 

"  Nuthin'  doin'  in  the  night,"  he  said,  in  something  like 
the  tone  of  a  disappointed  pessimist. 

"  No."  Joe  Brand  did  not  feel  a  great  deal  like  talking. 
Besides  the  nightmare  depression  that  held  him  he  had 
drunk  a  good  deal  of  rye  whisky  overnight. 

White  stared  out  across  the  creek,  whither  his  thoughts 
were  still  wandering. 

"  Maybe  we  —  was  scairt  some,"  he  observed,  with  a 
hollow  laugh. 

"  Maybe." 

Joe's  manner  was  discouraging. 

"  Gettin'  breakfast?"  the  other  inquired  presently. 

"Guess  so." 

And  the  rest  of  the  journey  to  the  store  was  made  in 
morose  silence. 

Others  were  already  astir  when  they  reached  their  destina- 


WILD  BILL  INSPECTS  HIS  CLAIM         275 

tion.  And  at  some  distance  they  beheld  a  small  group  of 
men  clustering  at  one  point  on  the  veranda.  But  such  was 
their  mood  that  the  matter  had  no  interest  whatever  for 
them  until  they  came  within  hailing  distance.  Then  it  was 
that  they  were  both  startled  into  new  life.  Then  it  was 
that  all  depression  was  swept  away  and  active  interest  leapt. 
Then  it  was  that  sore  heads  and  troubled  thoughts  gave  way 
before  an  excitement  almost  equal  to  the  previous  day's, 
only  that  it  carried  with  it  a  hope  which  the  latter  had  al- 
most killed. 

"  Say,  don't  it  beat  hell  ?  "  demanded  a  burly  prospector 
as  they  came  up,  pointing  back  at  the  wall  of  the  store  where 
the  group  was  clustering  like  a  swarm  of  bees. 

"  Don't  what  ?  "  inquired  Brand,  with  only  partial  inter- 
est. 

"  Why,  that,"  cried  the  man,  still  pointing.  "  Ther'  it  is, 
all  writ  up  ther'.  It's  in  Minky's  writin',  too.  They're 
sendin'  out  a  stage,  Wednesday.  Git  a  peek  at  it." 

But  Brand  and  his  companion  did  not  wait  for  his  final 
suggestion.  They,  too,  had  already  joined  the  cluster,  and 
stood  craning  on  the  outskirts  of  it.  Yes,  there  it  was,  well 
chalked  out  in  Minky's  bold  capitals  —  an  invitation  to  all 
his  customers  to  trade  all  the  gold  they  chose  to  part  with 
to  him  at  the  usual  rates,  or  to  ship  direct  to  the  bank  at 
Spawn  City  by  a  stage  that  was  to  leave  Suffering  Creek  at 
eight  o'clock  on  Wednesday  morning,  its  safe  delivery  in- 
sured, at  special  rates,  by  the  storekeeper  himself. 

It  was  the  most  astounding  notice,  under  the  circum- 
stances, ever  seen  on  Suffering  Creek,  and  as  the  citizens 
read  it  excitement  surged  to  a  tremendous  pitch. 

The  man  called  Van  expressed  something  of  the  thought 
in  every  mind  as  he  turned  to  Brand,  who  happened  to  be 
at  his  side. 

"Gee!"  he  cried,  with  ironical  levity.  "Old  Minky's 
plum  '  bug.'  He's  waited  to  '  unload '  till  James'  gang  has 


276       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

got  the  camp  held  up  three  miles  out.  Wai,  I  ain't  shippin'. 
Guess  I'll  trade  my  dust  at  a  discount.  It's  a  sight  easier 
carryin'  United  States  currency." 

"  But  he's  guaranteem*  delivery  at  the  bank,"  protested 
Brand. 

"  That's  what  it  sez,  sure,"  observed  White  doubtfully. 

"  It  beats  me,"  said  the  burly  miner  perplexedly,  again 
drawn  to  the  notice  by  the  apparent  recklessness  of  its  pur- 
port. "  It  beats  me  sure,"  he  reiterated.  Then,  after  a 
thoughtful  pause,  he  went  back  to  his  original  statement  as 
something  that  expressed  the  limit  of  his  understanding. 
"  It  sure  do  beat  hell." 

So  it  was  throughout  the  morning.  And  by  noon  every 
soul  in  the  camp  had  seen  or  heard  of  Minky's  contemplated 
recklessness.  The  place  was  wild  with  excitement,  and, 
instead  of  setting  out  for  their  various  claims  for  the  usual 
day's  work,  every  man  went  out  to  scrape  together  any 
"  dust "  he  possessed,  and  brought  it  in  to  trade. 

And  Minky  bought  with  perfect  good-humor,  discounting 
at  the  recognized  tariff,  but  always  with  solemn  eyes,  and  a 
mind  still  wondering  at  his  overnight  interview  with  Wrild 
Bill.  He  had  obeyed  him  implicitly,  knowing  that  he  was 
making  a  liberal  profit  for  himself,  whatever  the  gambler 
might  be  risking.  All  his  transactions  were  guaranteed  for 
him  by  the  small  fortune  which  Bill  possessed  safely  de- 
posited in  the  Spawn  City  bank.  Well,  it  was  not  for  him 
to  hesitate. 

But  his  trading  was  not  carried  on  without  comment  and 
questioning.  Besides  which,  there  was  a  heap  of  rough 
sarcasm  and  satire  to  put  up  with  from  his  customers.  But 
he  put  up  with  it.  He  could  afford  to.  And  to  the  closest 
questioning  he  had  always  one  answer,  and  no  enlighten- 
ment could  they  drag  out  of  him. 

"  The  stage  goes,  boys,"  he  told  them.  "  An,'  personal, 
I  ain't  scairt  a  cent's-worth  of  James  an'  his  gang.  Though, 


WILD  BILL  INSPECTS  HIS  CLAIM          277 

to  see  the  way  you'se  fellers  are  fallin'  over  yourselves  to 
make  trade  with  me,  I  guess  I  know  some  folks  as  is." 

The  marvel  of  the  whole  thing  confounded  the  public 
mind.  But  the  selfishness  of  human  nature  demanded  that 
advantage  should  be  taken  of  the  situation.  If  Minky,  who 
recently  had  jibbed  at  trading  gold,  had  suddenly  eased  the 
market,  well,  it  was  "  up  to  him."  It  was  his  "  funeral." 
The  public  jumped  at  the  chance  of  realizing,  and  so  reliev- 
ing themselves  of  the  cloud  of  trouble  threatening  them. 
James  could  come  along  with  a  whole  army  of  desperadoes, 
once  they  had  rid  themselves  of  their  "  dust."  They  then 
would  no  longer  have  anything  to  lose  except  their  lives,  and 
those  they  were  always  prepared  to  risk  in  anything  so 
enterprising  as  a  little  honest  gun-play. 

It  was  noon  when  Wild  Bill  was  stirring.  And  he  lis- 
tened to  the  news  which  greeted  him  on  every  hand  with  a 
calmly  non-committal  air.  Nor,  when  he  found  it  neces- 
sary to  comment,  did  he  hesitate  to  do  so  in  his  usual  sharp, 
decided  fashion. 

"  Minky's  good  grit,"  he  declared  on  one  occasion  to  a 
puzzled  miner.  "  I  don't  guess  ther's  many  folks  around  as 
'ud  take  his  chances.  I  allow  Sufferin'  Creek  needs  to  be 
proud  of  sech  a  feller." 

And  his  attitude  promptly  set  up  a  new  feeling  in  the 
camp.  Minky's  heroic  pose  had  not  struck  the  people  be- 
fore. But  now  the  full  force  of  it  struck  home  in  a  man- 
ner which  suddenly  raised  him  to  a  great  pinnacle  of 
popularity.  The  storekeeper  of  Suffering  Creek  was  stand- 
ing between  the  camp  and  possible  financial  disaster.  It 
was  noble.  It  was  splendid.  Yes,  they  had  reason  to  be 
very  thankful  to  him. 

Bill  contemplated  the  notice  long  and  earnestly  when  his 
attention  was  first  called  to  it.  And  his  narrow  eyes  lit  and 
twinkled  as  he  read  down  the  carefully  chalked  capitals. 
Minky  had  certainly  done  it  well.  But  then  Minky  did 


278       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

most  things  well.  He  read  it  down  a  second  time,  and  then 
pushed  his  way  into  the  store.  It  was  some  time  before  he 
could  reach  his  friend,  but  finally  he  got  him  to  himself  as  he 
was  poring  over  a  big  cash-book.  The  storekeeper  looked 
up.  Nor  had  he  any  greeting  for  his  visitor.  He  was  still 
dazed  at  the  gambler's  purpose.  And  somehow  it  was  the 
latter  who  had  to  speak  first. 

"  You  done  it  good,  Minky,"  he  said  amiably. 

"  Ther'll  be  sixty  thousand  dollars,"  the  storekeeper 
mumbled  doubtfully. 

"  Good." 

"Good?" 

"  Sure."  Bill  turned  and  gazed  out  of  the  window.  "  It 
needs  to  be  a  big  pile.  Makes  things  surer." 

"Surer?     I  don't  get  you." 

"  No ;  that's  so."  The  gambler  turned  back  to  the  other 
abruptly.  "  Say,  you  get  busy  an'  gas.  Gas  till  you  got  the 
camp  yappin'  like  coyotes.  Tell  'em  the  stage  is  sure  carry- 
in'  sixty  thousand  dollars'  worth  o'  good  red  gold."  Then 
his  manner  suddenly  changed  and  he  laughed.  "  Say,  I'm 
jest  goin'  out  to  get  a  peek  at  my  claim.  I  sure  guess  I 
bought  a  dandy  rich  claim  o'  Zip." 

"  You  orter  know,"  said  Minky,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 
"  I  sure  don't  seem  to  understand  — " 

"  Course  you  don't,"  cried  Bill,  with  strange  good-nature. 
Then  his  eyes  became  curiously  reflective.  "  Wher's  Zip  ?  " 

"  Zip  ?  Guess  he's  around  with  the  kids.  Y'see,  the 
Bird's  helpin'  him  fix  things.  Maybe  they're  back  in  the 
dinin'-room." 

Bill  stood  for  a  moment  in  deep  thought.  Then  he  turned 
suddenly,  and  his  fierce  little  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  his 
friend's  face. 

"  Them  kids,"  he  said  sharply.  "  Maybe  I'll  get  you  to 
kep  'em  safe  right  here  fer  three  days  an'  more.  After  that 
we'll  see."  Then  in  a  moment  his  expression  lightened  and 


WILD  BILL  INSPECTS  HIS  CLAIM          279 

he  laughed.    "  Guess  I'll  get  Zip  to  come  along  an'  show 
me  the  claim." 

Half-an-hour  later  the  gambler  was  striding  down  the 
river  bank,  with  Scipio  hurrying  along  at  his  side.  Several 
times  the  little  man  had  endeavored  to  engage  his  companion 
in  amiable  conversation.  He  wanted  to  talk  about  the  epi- 
sode at  the  river,  but  Bill  would  have  none  of  it.  Nor  was 
it  until  he  was  nearly  half-way  to  their  destination,  where 
Sandy  Joyce  was  already  at  work,  that  he  broke  the  silence 
in  which  he  had  wrapped  himself. 

They  had  just  emerged  from  a  narrow  cattle-track  where 
they  had  been  forced  to  walk  in  single  file  on  account  of  the 
bush  which  grew  in  such  abundance  on  either  side  of  it.  Bill 
was  leading,  and  as  the  path  widened  into  a  clearing,  in 
which  lay  several  fallen  trees  rooted  out  of  the  ground  by 
some  long-passed  flood  of  the  creek,  he  suddenly  turned 
about  and  faced  his  diminutive  friend. 

"  Here/'  he  said,  "  we'll  set  here  a  piece.  Guess  we  need 
to  talk  some."  He  glanced  quickly  about,  and  finally  flung 
himself  upon  the  nearest  tree-trunk.  "  Set/'  he  cried,  point- 
ing at  another  trunk  lying  opposite  to  him. 

Scipio  wonderingly  complied.  He  stood  in  considerable 
awe  of  the  gambler,  and  now  he  was  ransacking  his  brain  to 
discover  the  object  of  this  desire  for  a  talk.  He  could  find 
no  adequate  reason,  except  it  might  be  that  Bill  was  repent- 
ing of  his  bargain  in  purchasing  a  half-share  in  his  claim. 
Yes,  it  might  be  that.  It  probably  was  that.  He  had  no 
dotibt  bought  on  inaccurate  information.  Scipio  knew  how 
misleading  and  how  wild  many  of  the  reports  which  flew 
about  Suffering  Creek  were.  Besides,  he  was  certain  that 
Bill's  information  about  his  claim,  wherever  he  had  got  it 
from,  was  inaccurate.  Yes,  no  doubt  this  was  what  he 
wanted  to  talk  about,  and  the  honest-minded  man  promptly 
decided  that  the  gambler  should  have  no  cause  to  blame  him. 


280       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

He  need  have  no  doubts.  He  would  by  no  means  hold  him 
to  the  bargain.  He  would  return  the  money  — 

Suddenly  he  remembered.  He  had  already  spent  five 
dollars  of  it,  and  he  went  hot  and  cold  at  the  thought.  He 
had  nothing  with  which  to  replace  it. 

However,  he  took  no  further  thought,  and,  as  Bill  still 
remained  silent,  he  plunged  into  the  matter  at  once. 

"  I  got  most  all  the  money  with  me,"  he  began,  in  his 
vague  way  expecting  the  other  to  understand  his  meaning. 
"  That  is,  all  but  fi'  dollars.  Y'see,  the  kids  needed  — " 

Bill's  sharp  eyes  reached  his  face  with  a  jump. 

"  Wot  in  the  name  o'  blazes  — "  he  cried. 

But  Scipio  did  not  let  him  continue. 

"  I  knew  ther'  wa'n't  no  gold  showin'  on  my  claim,"  he 
hurriedly  explained.  "  So  I'll  jest  hand  you  back  your 
dollars." 

"  Square-toed  mackinaw ! "  the  gambler  cried,  his  face 
scarlet.  Then  he  broke  out  into  one  of  his  harsh  laughs. 
"  Say,"  he  went  on,  with  pretended  severity,  "  you  can't 
squeal  that  way.  I'm  in  ha'f  your  claim,  an'  I  ain't  lettin' 
up  my  holt  on  it  f er  —  f er  nobody  an'  nuthin'.  Get  that 
right  here.  You  can't  bluff  me." 

Scipio  flushed.  He  somehow  felt  very  small.  The  last 
thing  he  wanted  Bill  to  think  was  that  he  was  trying  to  do 
him  an  injury. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said  helplessly.  "  Y'see,  I  thought,  you 
needing  to  talk  to  me  so  bad,  you  wanted,  maybe,  to  quit 
my  claim." 

He  turned  away,  gazing  down  the  wood-lined  river. 
Somehow  he  could  not  face  the  gambler's  stern  eyes.  Had 
he  seen  the  sudden  softening  in  them  the  moment  the  other 
was  sure  he  was  unobserved,  he  might  have  been  less  trou- 
bled. But  the  gambler  had  no  soft  side  when  men's  eyes 
were  upon  him. 

"  'Tain't  about  your  claim  I  need  to  talk,"  Bill  said,  after 


WILD  BILL  INSPECTS  HIS  CLAIM          281 

a  brief  pause.  His  voice  was  less  harsh,  and  there  was  an 
unusual  thoughtf ulness  in  its  tone.  "  It's  —  it's  —  Say, 
Zip,  I  ain't  fergot  our  talk  out  there  on  the  trail."  He 
nodded  his  head  out  in  the  direction  of  Spawn  City.  "  You 
mind  that  talk  when  you  was  puttin'  up  that  fool  proposition 
o'  handin'  James  that  kid  ?  " 

Scipio's  eyes  had  come  back  to  his  companion,  and  their 
expression  had  suddenly  dropped  to  one  of  hopeless  regret. 
His  heart  was  stirred  to  its  depths  by  the  reference  to  the  past 
trouble  which  lay  like  a  cankerous  sore  so  deep  down  in  it. 

He  nodded.     But  otherwise  he  had  no  words. 

"  You're  needin'  your  wife?  "  Bill  went  on  brusquely. 

Again  Scipio  nodded.     But  this  time  words  came,  too. 

"  But  you  was  right,"  he  said.  "  I  saw  it  all  after.  I 
was  plumb  wrong.  An' —  an'  I  ain't  holding  you  to  —  what 
you  said.  You  jest  wanted  to  put  me  right.  I  understood 
that  —  after." 

Bill  stirred  uneasily,  and  kicked  a  protruding  limb  of  the 
tree  on  which  he  sat. 

"  You're  a  heap  ready  to  let  me  out,"  he  cried,  with  a 
return  to  his  harshest  manner.  "  Who  in  blazes  are  you  to 
say  I  don't  need  to  do  the  —  things  I  said  I'd  do  ?  Jest  wait 
till  you're  ast  to."  He  turned  away,  and  Scipio  was  left 
troubled  and  wondering. 

But  suddenly  the  lean  body  swung  round  again,  and  the 
little  prospector  felt  the  burning  intensity  of  the  man's  eyes 
as  they  concentrated  on  his  flushing  face. 

"  You're  needin'  your  wife?"  he  jerked  out. 

"  More'n  all  the  world,"  the  little  man  cried,  with  emotion. 

"  Would  you  put  up  a  —  a  scrap  f er  her  ?  " 

"  With  anybody." 

The  corners  of  Bill's  mouth  wrinkled,  but  his  eyes  re- 
mained hard  and  commanding.  Whatever  feelings  of  an 
appreciative  nature  lay  behind  his  lean  face  they  were  well 
hidden. 


282       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  You'd  face  James  an'  all  his  gang  —  again  ?  You'd  face 
him  if  it  sure  meant  —  death  ?  " 

"  The  chance  o'  death  wouldn't  stop  me  if  I  could  get  her 
back." 

The  quiet  of  the  little  man's  tone  carried  a  conviction  far 
greater  than  any  outburst  could  have  done. 

"An' she's  been  — his?" 

Scipio  took  a  deep  breath.  His  hands  clenched.  Just  for 
a  moment  the  whites  of  his  eyes  became  bloodshot  with 
some  rush  of  tremendous  feeling.  It  seemed  as  though  he 
were  about  to  break  out  into  verbal  expression  of  his  agony 
of  heart.  But  when  he  finally  did  speak  it  was  in  the  same 
even  tone,  though  his  breath  came  hard  and  deep. 

"  I  want  her  —  whatever  she  is,"  he  said  quietly. 

Bill  rose  to  his  feet,  and  a  passionate  light  shone  in  his 
sparkling  eyes. 

"  Then  take  Minky's  mule  an'  buckboard.  Start  right  out 
fer  James'  ranch  before  sun-up  Wednesday  mornin',  an' — 
you'll  sure  get  her.  Come  on." 

Scipio  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  a  dozen  hot  questions 
leapt  to  his  mind.  An  ocean  of  gratitude  was  struggling  to 
pour  from  his  inadequate  tongue,  but  Bill  would  have  none 
of  it.  He  waved  him  aside  and  set  off  for  their  destination, 
and  the  other  could  only  follow.  But  at  the  farther  edge  of 
the  clearing  again  the  gambler  paused.  This  time  a  sudden 
thought  had  changed  his  plans.  He  turned  abruptly,  and 
without  one  particle  of  softening  in  his  manner  he  ordered 
him  back. 

"  Say,"  he  cried,  "  ther'  ain't  no  use  fer  you  to  get  around 
further.  You  ken  jest  light  back  to  the  store,  an'  see  to 
them  kids.  Don't  you  never  let  'em  out  o'  your  sight  till 
Wednesday  come.  Then  hit  out  fer  James'  ranch." 

When  Wild  Bill  eventually  reached  the  claim,  he  found 
Sandy  sitting  on  an  upturned  bucket  amidst  the  most  deplor- 


WILD  BILL  INSPECTS  HIS  CLAIM          283 

able  surroundings  in  which  a  gold  prospector  in  quest  of  the 
precious  metal  could  ever  hope  to  find  himself. 

The  creek  bank  was  some  two  hundred  yards  away,  with 
a  pronounced  rising  ground  between  him  and  it.  Behind 
him  was  a  great  cut-faced  rock  of  ironstone  that  certainly 
looked  auriferous.  The  base  of  it  lay  in  a  definite  hollow, 
reed-grown  and  oozy.  Beyond  him,  to  the  right,  following 
the  river  bank,  the  ground  declined  gradually  towards  a 
black-looking,  turgid  and  overgrown  swamp.  While,  from 
the  direction  in  which  the  gambler  approached,  a  low,  dense, 
thorny  bush  grew,  made  up  of  branches  almost  skeleton  in 
their  lack  of  leaves.  It  was  a  forlorn  and  uninviting  spot, 
calculated  to  dishearten  anybody  with  a  heart  less  big  and 
an  enthusiasm  less  vital  than  Scipio's. 

Bill  stood  for  a  moment  surveying  the  scene  before  Sandy 
realized  his  presence.  And  that  first  glance  set  him  snorting 
contemptuously. 

"  Well,  say  — "  he  began.  But  words  failed  him,  and  he 
hurried  across  to  his  "  hired  "  man. 

Sandy  jumped  up  as  he  came  near,  and  before  the  other 
could  stop  him  had  poured  out  his  opinion  of  things  in  gen- 
eral, and  that  claim  in  particular,  in  a  few  well-chosen  and 
effective  words. 

"  Say,  Zip  orter  sure  be  shot  or  hanged,"  he  cried  angrily, 
"  an'  this  doggone  claim  o'  mud  needs  to  be  boosted  through 
a  dogasted  volcany  an'  blowed-out  the  other  side  o'  no  sort 
o'  place  at  all.  Ther'  sure  ain't  nuthin'  worse  in  the  world 
than  the  foolishness  of  a  tow-headed  fool." 

But  Bill  ignored  the  outburst. 

"  How  much  gold  you  found  ?  "  he  inquired  coldly. 

Sandy's  indignant  eyes  blazed. 

"Gold?  Pea-shucks!"  he  roared,  with  a  furious  oath. 
"  An'  I  tell  you  right  here  I  ain't  to  be  made  no  fool  of. 
You  ken  take  this  mule-headed  job  an' —  an' —  well,  you  ken 
take  it.  I  quit  right  here." 


284       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

But  again  Bill  ignored  his  outburst.  There  was  not  a 
vestige  of  expression  in  his  face  as  he  moved  across  to  the 
mouth  of  a  shaft  Scipio  had  been  sinking  before  his  work 
had  been  interrupted  by  the  going  of  his  wife.  He  looked 
into  it  and  pointed. 

"  Guess  you  best  get  right  on  makin'  this  hole  deeper. 
Ther'  ain't  nuthin'  like  diggin'  to  find  out.  Zip's  sure  a 
wise  guy.  I  don't  guess  I  know  what  you'll  likely  find  — 
but  —  you  best  kep  diggin'.  That's  sure  his  notion." 

Sandy  went  purple  in  the  face,  and  spluttered  violently 
in  his  attempt  to  speak.  Finally,  when  he  did  get  his  words 
out,  it  was  only  to  repeat  his  decision. 

"  It's  jest  a  mud  swamp,"  he  cried,  "  an'  I  quit." 

Bill  turned  swiftly.  His  movements  were  almost  cat-like 
as  he  came  up  and  peered  into  Sandy's  face. 

"  You'll  kep  right  on  diggin'  that  hole,"  he  said,  with  an 
icy  threat.  "  An'  come  Wednesday  you'll  quit  diggin'  an' 
hit  the  trail  on  Zip's  track  —  you  an'  Sunny  an'  Toby  —  an' 
you'll  sure  see  no  harm  comes  to  him.  But  he  ain't  to  see 
you,  nor  to  know  you're  chasin'  him.  An'  you  ain't  to  stop 
him,  no  matter  what  fool  trick  he  gets  playin'.  Get  me  ?  " 

Sandy's  choler  died  out  before  the  other's  purpose.  He 
suddenly  realized  that  his  work  on  the  claim  was  not  of  any 
great  consequence  to  his  employer,  that  Bill  had  other 
thoughts,  other  schemes  in  his  head,  and  that  he,  Sandy, 
was  to  have  his  place  in  them.  He  nodded. 

"  I  get  you,"  he  said.     "  But  — " 

"  Ther'  ain't  no  '  buts,'  "  interrupted  Bill.  "  You're  goin' 
to  do  as  I  sez.  Meanwhiles  you're  goin'  right  on  diggin' 
that  hole,  to  earn  your  dollars." 

And  without  another  word  he  turned  and  hurried  away 
towards  the  mouth  of  the  trail  whence  he  had  appeared. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

SUSPENSE 

IT  was  nearly  sundown.  A  chilly  mist  was  stealing  down 
the  slopes  of  the  surrounding  hills.  It  densified  to  a  ruddy 
fog  as  it  caught  the  glow  of  the  evening  sun,  and  finally 
settled  upon  the  valley.  And  with  each  passing  moment  the 
hills  seemed  to  recede,  their  outlines  to  grow  more  indistinct 
and  ghostly.  And  gradually  the  whole  prospect  took  on  the 
depressing  aspect  of  a  day  dying  wearily. 

Had  Jessie  been  less  preoccupied  as  she  stood  at  the  door 
of  the  ranch-house  she  might  have  felt  something  of  all  this. 
But  she  heeded  nothing  of  the  hour,  and  saw  nothing  of  the 
picture  before  her.  Her  eyes  only  visualized  the  scenes  that 
a  world  of  troubled  and  apprehensive  thought  yielded  her. 
Her  mind  and  heart  were  full  of  a  great  terror,  a  terror 
which  left  her  helpless  and  dazed. 

She  stirred  restlessly.  Time  and  again  she  changed  her 
position.  Now  she  was  leaning  against  one  casing  of  the 
doorway,  now  against  the  other.  A  nervous  glance  over  her 
shoulder,  as  some  sound  in  the  darkness  of  the  room  behind 
her  set  her  shivering,  told  of  the  state  of  her  nerves,  as  also, 
with  ears  ever  on  the  alert,  her  fearful  glances  at  a  definite 
spot  in  the  rapidly  dimming  hills  told  of  a  straining,  harassed 
expectancy.  Her  nerves  were  almost  at  breaking-point. 
Her  handsome  face  was  drawn  and  haggard.  All  the  youth- 
ful freshness  seemed  to  have  vanished  from  it  forever,  leav- 
ing her  radiant  eyes  shadowed  and  hopeless.  It  was  a 
painful  change.  But  the  outward  and  visible  signs  were 
nothing  to  the  changes  that  had  taken  place  within  her. 


286       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Thirty  yards  away  a  decrepit  choreman  was  making  pre- 
tense of  some  work  upon  a  corral  fence.  But  it  was  only 
pretense.  His  real  occupation  was  espionage.  His  red- 
rimmed  eyes  never  for  a  moment  lost  sight  of  his  master's 
woman  when  she  showed  herself  in  the  open.  A  curious- 
looking  dog  of  immense  proportions,  half  mastiff,  half  New- 
foundland, squatted  on  its  haunches  at  his  side,  alternating 
his  green-eyed  attention  between  a  watchful  regard  for  the 
hand  that  fed  and  thrashed  it  and  the  woman  at  the  doorway. 
There  was  not  much  to  choose  between  the  faces  of  these 
wardens  of  the  ranch.  Both  were  cruel,  both  were  intensely 
vicious.  In  neither  pair  of  eyes  was  there  any  friendliness 
for  the  woman.  And  it  needed  little  imagination  to  under- 
stand that  both  possessed  to  the  full  all  the  instincts  of  the 
savage  watch-dog. 

But  Jessie  had  no  thought  for  either.  Her  own  terrible 
thoughts  and  feelings  held  her.  It  is  doubtful  if  she  was 
even  aware  of  their  presence  at  all.  Just  now  one  thought 
stood  out  dominant  in  her  mind.  She  was  expecting  the 
return  of  —  James.  And  the  return  of  James  meant  — 
She  shuddered. 

He  was  returning  from  his  expedition  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Suffering  Creek,  and  this  knowledge  brought  with  it  the 
remembrance  that  his  object  was  to  give  her  possession  of 
at  least  one  of  her  children.  Distracted  as  she  was  with 
her  mother's  desire  for  possession  of  her  offspring,  although 
the  man  was  now  only  obeying  her  expressed  wishes,  she 
dreaded  the  child's  coming  almost  as  much  as  she  dreaded 
her  lover's  return.  The  thought  of  seeing  Vada  in  this 
man's  arms  maddened  her  to  such  a  degree  that  she  was 
well-nigh  beside  herself. 

For  two  whole  days  now  had  she  brooded  under  a  cloud 
of  despair.  She  had  scarcely  stirred  out  of  her  room ;  she 
had  eaten  scarcely  enough  to  sustain  life.  She  had  shut  her- 
self up,  a  prey  to  harrowing  remorse  and  terror  —  a  remorse 


SUSPENSE  287 

which  she  knew  to  be  as  useless  as  her  terror  was  nerve- 
racking.  Her  awakening  had  come,  sudden,  awful.  And, 
like  all  such  awakenings,  it  had  come  too  late,  so  that  the 
horror  of  her  future  was  written  in  letters  of  fire  before  her 
mental  eyes,  a  fire  which  burnt  into  her  broken  heart  and' 
left  her  in  the  depths  of  an  unutterable  despair. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  her  lover's  departure  for  the 
region  of  Suffering  Creek  that  the  awakening  had  come.  It 
had  come  with  an  overwhelming  rush  of  horror  which,  in 
the  midst  of  her  dressing,  had  sent  her  reeling  and  fainting 
upon  the  bed  from  which  she  had  only  just  risen,  and  where 
for  two  hours  she  had  subsequently  lain  in  a  state  of 
collapse. 

She  was  brushing  her  hair,  her  mind  busy  with  the  pleas- 
ant thought  that  shortly  she  was  to  have  one  of  her  children 
with  her  again.  She  knew  that  her  appeal  to  her  husband 
had  failed,  but  James  had  sworn  to  keep  his  promise,  and 
now  he  was  setting  out  for  that  expressed  purpose.  And 
such  was  her  foolish  woman's  blind  faith  that  she  had  no 
doubts.  When  he  returned  he  was  to  bring,  at  least,  little 
Vada  with  him.  The  fresh  mountain  air  was  doubly  pleas- 
ant to  her  that  morning.  The  brilliant  sunlight  raised  her 
spirits.  All  qualms  of  conscience  were  thrust  into  the  back- 
ground, and  she  was  as  nearly  happy  as  earthly  interest 
could  make  her. 

She  could  see  the  crowded  corrals  from  where  she  stood. 
She  could  hear  the  bellowing  of  the  restless  cattle  as  they 
pushed  and  horned  each  other  in  their  forceful,  bovine  desire 
to  get  out  to  the  succulent  grass  of  their  beloved  pastures. 
All  the  men  were  astir,  preparing  for  their  lawless  expedi- 
tion. The  saddle-horses,  ready  for  the  trail,  were  hitched  to 
the  corral  fences.  Through  the  open  window  she  could  hear 
her  lover  ordering  and  hectoring,  as  was  his  way  of  dealing 
with  the  ruffians  who  served  under  his  leadership;  and  a 
thrill  of  excitement,  a  subtle  sympathy,  stirred  her.  She 


288       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

moved  to  the  window,  leaving  her  beautiful  hair  flowing  in 
the  bright  air,  and  stood  watching  for  the  departure. 

Then  came  that  hideous  thing  which  was  to  shadow  all  her 
future  life.  It  came  almost  without  warning.  In  a  flash,  it 
seemed,  the  last  tinge  of  romance  was  swept  from  her 
thoughts,  and  the  hideous  skeleton  of  reality  was  laid  bare. 

The  men  had  tightened  up  the  cinchas  of  their  saddles, 
and  passed  the  reins  over  their  horses'  heads,  ready  to 
mount.  She  watched  them  all  with  something  very  like  ad- 
miration in  her  blinded  eyes.  Their  hard,  desperate  faces 
did  not  appear  so  to  her.  These  things,  in  her  foolish  mind, 
were  the  hall-mark  of  reckless  courage,  of  strong,  virile  man- 
hood. They  were  men  who  feared  nothing,  who  cared  no 
more  for  their  own  lives  than  they  would  care  for  the  life  of 
an  enemy.  And  somehow  this  seemed  to  her  just  as  it 
should  be. 

She  waited  to  see  them  mount  their  raw-boned  bronchos. 
But  somehow  there  was  a  delay ;  and  in  this  delay  a  change 
came  over  the  scene.  The  men  drifted  away  from  their 
horses  and  gathered  into  groups.  They  stood  whispering 
together  with  faces  averted  from  their  leader.  A  feeling  of 
apprehension  somehow  caught  hold  of  her.  She  did  not 
understand  why,  but  she  felt  that  all  was  not  right.  She 
turned  to  James,  and  saw  that  he  was  moving  round  his 
horse  all  unconcernedly,  and  she  wondered  if  he  were  aware 
of  the  change  in  his  men. 

But  all  further  speculation  was  abruptly  checked,  for  at 
that  moment  she  heard  the  leader  issue  one  of  his  sharp 
orders.  She  did  not  quite  catch  his  words,  but  she  noticed 
that  no  one  moved  or  attempted  to  comply.  Only  talk 
ceased  instantly.  Then  she  saw  the  handsome  face  of  her 
lover  flush,  as  he  glanced  about  him  at  this  unusual  phenom- 
enon, and  in  a  moment  she  recognized  the  sudden  savage 
anger  that  flashed  into  his  eyes.  Simultaneously  his  hand 
dropped  to  the  butt  of  one  of  his  guns. 


SUSPENSE  289 

Then  she  heard  his  words,  as  they  were  shouted  to  the 
accompaniment  of  a  string  of  vicious  oaths. 

"  Ho,  you,  Ned,  an'  you,  too,  Sully ! "  he  cried  fiercely, 
"  get  your  ears  flappin'.  Huyk  that  rotten  skunk  Conroy 
out.  I  ain't  tellin'  you  again." 

The  woman  had  thrilled  at  his  words.  There  was  such 
command,  such  fearlessness  in  them,  in  his  whole  poise. 
She  felt,  too,  that  there  was  trouble  looming.  There  was 
rebellion  in  the  air.  Her  excitement  rose,  and  her  sympa- 
thies were  all  for  this  one  man. 

The  two  men  indicated  suddenly  bestirred  themselves,  and 
moved  off  under  their  leader's  eye.  The  rest  drifted  to- 
gether—  eight  of  them,  she  found  herself  counting.  And 
as  they  drew  together  a  murmur  arose. 

Instantly  James'  gun  flew  from  its  holster ;  and  he  stood, 
the  personification  of  cold  authority. 

"  Another  word  an'  I  empty  this  into  your  lousy  hides !  " 
she  heard  him  cry.  And  instantly  the  murmur  died  out. 

But  the  threatening  weapon  did  not  return  to  its  holster. 
James  stood  there  waiting.  And  presently  she  beheld  the 
two  men  he  had  despatched  returning,  bringing  in  their  cus- 
tody, tottering  awkwardly  between  them,  the  man  Abe  Con- 
roy, with  his  arms  tightly  fastened  behind  his  back,  and  a 
pair  of  horse-hobbles  securing  his  ankles.  They  came 
slowly,  for  the  hobbles  allowed  but  little  play,  and  halted 
less  than  five  yards  away  from  their  leader. 

As  they  paused  the  woman  shivered.  Some  premonition 
of  what  was  about  to  happen  got  hold  of  her,  and  struck 
terror  to  her  heart.  She  stood  staring  now,  unable  to  move. 
A  hideous  fascination  seemed  to  paralyze  her. 

The  next  thing  that  reached  her  comprehension  was  that 
James  was  speaking  in  a  harsh  metallic  voice.  She  had 
never  heard  him  speak  like  that  before,  and  her  fears  swiftly 
increased  as  his  words  floated  in  through  the  open  window. 

"  Now,  you  skunk,"  he  was  saying,  "  you  guess  you're 


290       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

man  enough  to  run  this  lay-out.  You  guess  you're  a  bigger 
man  than  me.  You  guess  you  got  me  squealin'  around  like 
a  suckin'  kid.  You !  An'  I  took  you  out  o'  jail,  wher'  they 
was  goin'  to  set  you  swingin'.  Gee!  I  could  tell  you  a 
heap,  but  I  ain't  no  time  talkin'  to  bastards  of  your  kidney. 
Swingin's  too  good  fer  sech  as  you.  Anyway,  when  I  got 
work  to  do  I  do  it  myself.  Here,  you,  Ned,  an*  you,  Sully, 
stand  aside ! " 

She  saw  the  two  men  withdraw.  She  wanted  to  scream, 
without  quite  knowing  why.  But  no  sound  came.  Her  eyes 
were  starting  out  of  her  head  with  the  horror  of  what  she 
knew  to  be  about  to  happen.  But  she  had  no  power  to  stir 
hand  or  foot. 

She  saw  James  move  forward.  She  saw  the  bloodless, 
horror-stricken  face  of  the  prisoner.  She  saw  him  stumble 
as  he  attempted  to  move  away.  There  was  no  escape. 

James  moved  forward  with  body  crouching,  and  strides 
that  covered  the  intervening  space  with  almost  feline  stealth. 

He  came  right  up  to  the  man,  his  gun  leading.  She  heard 
a  report  and  one  dreadful  cry  of  terror  and  pain.  She  saw 
Conroy  crumple  and  fall  writhing  upon  the  ground.  She 
saw  the  blood  streaming  from  his  stomach.  Then  the  fur- 
ther horror  came  to  her  staring  eyes  as  she  saw  James  stand 
over  his  victim  and  fire  shot  after  shot  into  the  hideous, 
writhing  heap. 

But  the  limit  was  reached.  With  one  wild  scream  she 
turned  away  and  flung  herself  upon  her  bed ;  and  the  next 
moment  everything  mercifully  became  a  blank  to  her. 

That  was  on  the  Sunday  morning.  She  saw  nothing  of 
what  followed.  She  knew  nothing  until  she  awoke  some 
two  hours  later  to  the  haunting  vision  of  the  scene  she  had 
witnessed.  And  ever  since  it  had  clung  to  her  —  clung  like 
an  obsession,  a  mental  parasite  sapping  her  nerve,  her  very 
reason.  Nor  had  she  power  to  disassociate  herself  from  it. 

And  now  she  was  waiting  in  an  agony  of  mind  for  the 


SUSPENSE  291 

murderer's  return.  Not  only  was  she  waiting  for  his  return, 
but  she  expected  to  see  him  bearing  in  his  arms  one  of  her 
own  innocent  children.  The  thought  of  little  Vada  in  his 
arms  drove  her  frantic.  Her  innocent  little  Vada  in  the 
arms  of  this  cold-blooded  assassin ! 

She  knew  him  now  for  all  he  was.  The  scales  had  fallen 
from  her  foolish  eyes.  All  the  romance  of  his  hideous  call- 
ing had  passed  in  a  flash,  and  she  saw  it  as  it  was.  She  had 
no  words  to  express  her  feelings  of  horror  and  revolting. 
In  her  weakness  and  wickedness  she  had  torn  herself  out  of 
the  life  of  a  good  man  to  fling  herself  upon  the  bosom  of 
this  black-hearted  villain.  She  loathed  him ;  she  loathed  his 
very  name.  But  more  than  all  else  she  loathed  herself. 
Her  punishment  was  terrible.  She  was  so  helpless,  so 
powerless.  She  knew  it,  and  the  knowledge  paralyzed  her 
thought.  What  could  she  do  ?  She  knew  she  was  watched, 
and  any  move  to  get  away  would  be  at  once  frustrated. 
She  could  do  nothing  —  nothing. 

No  longer  able  to  remain  in  her  room,  she  had  come  out 
to  breathe  air  which  she  vainly  hoped  was  less  contaminated 
with  the  crimes  of  the  man  whose  home  she  had  elected  to 
share.  But  inside  or  out  it  made  no  difference.  The  haunt- 
ing was  not  of  the  place.  It  was  in  her  mind ;  it  had  envel- 
oped her  whole  consciousness. 

But  through  it  all  there  was  one  longing,  one  yearning  for 
all  that  she  had  lost,  all  she  had  wantonly  thrown  away. 
Suffering  Creek,  with  its  poverty-stricken  home  on  the 
dumps,  suggested  paradise  to  her  now.  She  yearned  as  only 
a  mother  can  yearn  for  the  warm  caresses  of  her  children. 
She  longed  for  the  honest  love  of  the  little  man  whom,  in  the 
days  of  her  arrogant  womanhood,  she  had  so  mercilessly 
despised.  All  his  patient  kindliness  came  back  to  her  now. 
All  his  tremendous,  if  misdirected,  effort  on  her  behalf,  his 
never-failing  loyalty  and  courage,  were  things  which  to  her, 
in  her  misery,  were  the  most  blessed  of  all  blessings.  She 


292       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

wanted  home  —  home.  And  in  that  one  bitter  cry  of  her 
heart  was  expressed  the  awakening  of  her  real  womanhood. 

But  it  had  come  too  late  —  too  late.  There  was  no  home 
now  for  her  but  the  home  of  this  man.  There  was  no 
husband  for  her,  only  the  illicit  love  of  this  man.  Her  chil- 
dren —  she  could  only  obtain  them  by  a  theft.  And  as  this 
last  thought  came  to  her  she  remembered  who  it  was  who 
must  commit  the  theft. 

The  thought  brought  a  fresh  terror.  How  would  he 
accomplish  his  end  ?  Had  not  Scipio  tacitly  refused  to  yield 
up  her  children?  Then  how  —  how?  She  shivered.  She 
knew  the  means  James  would  readily,  probably  only  too 
gladly,  adopt.  Her  husband,  the  little  harmless  man  who 
had  always  loved  her,  would  be  swept  aside  like  anyone  else 
who  stood  in  the  way.  James  would  shoot  him  down  as  he 
had  shot  Conroy  down;  even,  she  fancied,  he  would  shoot 
him  down  for  the  wanton  amusement  of  destroying  his 
life. 

Oh  no,  no!  It  was  too  horrible.  He  was  her  husband, 
the  first  man  she  had  ever  cared  for.  She  thought  of  all 
they  had  been  to  each  other.  Her  mind  sped  swiftly  over 
past  scenes  which  had  so  long  been  forgotten.  She  remem- 
bered his  gentleness,  his  kindly  thought  for  her,  his  self- 
effacement  where  her  personal  comforts  were  in  question, 
his  devotion  both  to  herself  and  her  children.  Every  detail 
of  their  disastrous  married  life  sped  swiftly  before  her 
straining  mental  vision,  leaving  the  man  standing  out  some- 
thing greater  than  a  hero  to  her  yearning  heart.  And  she 
had  flung  it  all  away  in  a  moment  of  passion.  She  had 
blinded  herself  in  the  arrogance  of  her  woman's  vanity. 
Gone,  gone.  And  now  she  was  the  mistress  of  a  common 
assassin. 

So  she  lashed  herself  with  the  torture  of  repentance  and 
regret  as  the  darkness  fell.  She  did  not  stir  from  her  post. 
The  damp  of  the  mist  was  unnoticed,  the  chill  of  the  air. 


SUSPENSE  293 

She  was  waiting  for  that  return  which  was  to  claim  her  to 
an  earthly  hell,  than  which  she  could  conceive  no  greater  — 
waiting  like  the  condemned  prisoner,  numb,  helpless,  fearful 
lest  the  end  should  come  unobserved. 

The  ranch  wardens  waited,  too.  The  man  cursed  his 
charge  with  all  the  hatred  of  an  evil  nature,  as  the  damp 
penetrated  to  his  mean  bones.  The  dog,  too,  grew  restless, 
but  where  his  master  was,  there  was  his  place.  He  had  long 
since  learned  that  —  to  his  cost. 

The  night  crept  on,  and  there  was  no  change  in  the  posi- 
tion, except  that  the  man  sought  the  sheltering  doorway  of 
one  of  the  barns,  and  covered  his  damp  shirt  with  a  jacket. 
But  the  woman  did  not  move.  She  was  beyond  all  concep- 
tion of  time.  She  was  beyond  any  thought  of  personal  com- 
fort or  fatigue.  All  she  knew  was  that  she  must  wait  — 
wait  for  the  coming  of  her  now  hated  lover,  that  at  least  she 
might  snatch  her  child  from  his  contaminating  arms.  And 
after  that  —  well,  after  that  —  She  had  no  power  to  think 
of  the  afterwards. 

The  moon  rose  amidst  the  obscurity  of  the  fog.  It 
mounted,  and  at  last  reached  a  height  where  its  silvery  light 
could  no  longer  be  denied  by  the  low-lying  mists.  But  its 
reign  was  brief.  Its  cold  splendor  rapidly  began  to  shrink 
before  the  pink  dawn,  and  in  less  than  two  hours  it  was  but 
a  dim  white  circle  set  in  the  azure  of  the  new-born  day. 

Still  the  woman  remained  at  her  post,  her  dark  eyes  strain- 
ing with  her  vigil.  She  was  drenched  to  the  skin  with  the 
night-mists,  but  the  chill  of  her  body  was  nothing  to  the  chill 
of  her  heart.  The  spy  was  still  at  his  post  in  the  barn  door- 
way, but  he  was  slumbering,  as  was  his  canine  servitor,  lying 
curled  up  at  his  feet.  The  sun  rose,  the  mists  cleared.  And 
now  the  warming  of  day  stirred  the  cattle  in  the  corrals. 
•  Suddenly  the  waiting  woman  started.  Her  attention  had 
never  once  relaxed.  She  moved  out  with  stiffened  joints, 
and,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  stared  into  the  gleam- 


294       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

ing  sunlight.  Her  ears  had  caught  the  distant  thud  of 
horses'  hoofs,  and  now  her  eyes  confirmed.  Away  down 
the  valley  she  could  see  the  dim  outline  of  a  number  of 
horsemen  riding  towards  the  ranch. 

Her  heart  began  to  thump  in  her  bosom,  and  her  limbs 
quaked  under  her.  Whaf  could  she  do  ?  What  must  she  do  ? 
Every  thought,  every  idea  that  her  long  vigil  had  suggested 
was  swept  from  her  mind.  A  blank  helplessness  held  her  in 
its  grip.  She  could  only  wait  for  what  was  to  come. 

The  pounding  of  hoofs  grew  louder,  the  figures  grew 
bigger.  They  were  riding  out  of  the  sun,  and  her  eyes  were 
almost  blinded  as  she  looked  for  that  which  she  trembled  to 
behold.  She  could  not  be  certain  of  anything  yet,  except 
that  the  return  of  her  lover  was  at  hand. 

Nearer,  nearer  they  came.  Nearer,  nearer  still.  Then 
suddenly  a  sharp  exclamation  broke  from  the  watcher.  It 
was  a  cry  which  had  in  it  a  strange  thrill.  It  might  have 
been  the  gasp  of  the  condemned  man  at  the  sound  of  the 
word  "  reprieve."  It  might  have  been  the  cry  of  one  mo- 
mentarily relieved  from  years  of  suffering. 

She  could  see  them  plainly.  For  now  the  figures  were 
no  longer  silhouetted  against  the  sun.  They  had  changed 
their  course  as  they  neared  the  ranch,  and  the  rising  sun  was 
well  clear.  She  could  even  recognize  them  by  their  horses. 
She  counted.  There  were  ten  of  them.  One  was  missing. 
Who?  But  her  interest  was  only  momentary.  She  recog- 
nized the  leader,  and  after  that  nothing  else  concerned  her. 

She  could  not  mistake  him.  He  sat  his  dark  brown  horse 
differently  to  anybody  else.  He  looked  to  be  part  of  it. 
But  there  was  no  admiration  in  her  eyes.  And  yet  there 
was  an  expression  in  them  that  had  not  been  in  them  since 
his  departure.  There  was  hope  in  her  eyes,  and  something 
akin  to  joy  in  her  whole  attitude.  James  was  riding  empty- 
handed  ! 

Hence  her  cry.     But  now  she  glanced  swiftly  at  each 


SUSPENSE  295 

horseman,  to  be  sure  that  they,  too,  were  empty-handed. 
Yes,  each  man  was  riding  with  the  loose  swinging  arms  of 
the  prairie  man.  And  with  a  sigh  that  contained  in  it  every 
expression  of  an  unbounded  relief  she  turned  and  vanished 
into  the  house.  For  the  time,  at  least,  Vada  was  safe. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

JAMES 

JAMES  clattered  into  the  empty  sitting-room  and  stared 
about  him.  His  dark  face  was  flushed  with  excitement. 
The  savage  in  him  was  stirred  to  its  best  mood,  but  it  was 
still  the  savage.  He  grinned  as  he  realized  that  the  room 
was  empty,  and  it  was  a  grin  of  amusement.  Some  thought 
in  his  mind  gave  him  satisfaction,  in  spite  of  uie  fact  that 
there  was  no  one  to  greet  him. 

The  grin  passed  and  left  him  serious.  Even  his  excite- 
ment had  abated.  He  had  remembered  Jessie's  scream  at 
the  scene  she  must  have  witnessed.  He  remembered  that  he 
had  left  her  fainting.  With  another  quick  glance  round  he 
stood  and  called  — 

"Ho,  you!    Jess!" 

There  was  no  answer;  and  he  called  again,  this  time  his 
handsome  face  darkening.  He  had  seen  her  from  a  distance 
outside  the  house,  so  there  was  no  doubt  of  her  being  about. 

Still  he  received  no  answer. 

An  oath  followed.  But  just  as  he  was  about  to  call  again 
he  heard  the  sound  of  a  skirt  beyond  the  inner  door.  In- 
stantly he  checked  his  impulse,  and  where  before  his  swift- 
rising  anger  had  shone  in  his  eyes  a  smile  now  greeted  Jessie 
as  she  opened  the  door  and  entered  the  room. 

For  a  moment  no  verbal  greeting  passed  between  them. 
The  man  was  taking  in  every  detail  of  her  face  and  figure, 
much  as  a  connoisseur  may  note  the  points  of  some  precious 
purchase  he  is  about  to  make,  or  a  glutton  may  contemplate 
a.  favorite  dish.  He  saw  nothing  in  her  face  of  the  effects 


JAMES  297 

of  the  strain  through  which  she  had  passed.  To  him  her 
eyes  were  the  same  wonderful,  passionate  depths  that  had 
first  drawn  his  reckless  manhood  to  flout  every  risk  in  hunt- 
ing his  quarry  down.  Her  lips  were  the  same  rich,  moist, 
enticing  lips  he  had  pressed  to  his  in  those  past  moments  of 
passion.  The  rounded  body  was  unchanged.  Yes,  she  was 
very  desirable. 

But  he  was  too  sure  of  his  ground  to  notice  that  there  was 
no  responsive  admiration  in  the  woman's  eyes.  And  perhaps 
it  was  as  well.  She  was  looking  at  him  with  eyes  wide  open 
to  what  he  really  was,  and  all  the  revolting  of  her  nature 
was  uppermost.  She  loathed  him  as  she  might  some  venom- 
ous reptile.  She  loathed  him  and  feared  him.  His  body 
might  have?*been  the  body  of  an  Apollo,  his  face  the  most 
perfect  of  God's  creations.  She  knew  him  now  for  the  cold- 
blooded murderer  he  was,  and  so  she  loathed  and  feared  him. 

There  were  stains  upon  his  cotton  shirt-sleeves,  upon  the 
bosom  of  it  showing  between  the  fronts  of  his  unbuttoned 
waistcoat.  There  were  stains  upon  his  white  moleskin 
trousers. 

"  Blood,"  she  said,  pointing.  And  something  of  her  feel- 
ings must  have  been  plain  to  any  but  his  infatuated  ears. 

He  laughed.     It  was  a  cruel  laugh. 

"  Sure,"  he  cried.  "  It  was  a  great  scrap.  We  took 
nigh  a  hundred  head  of  Sid  Morton's  cattle  and  burnt  him 
out." 

"  And  the  blood?" 

"  Guess  it  must  be  his,  or  —  Luke  Tedby's."  His  face 
suddenly  darkened.  "  That  mutton-headed  gambler  over  on 
Suffering  Creek  did  him  up.  I  had  to  carry  him  to  shelter 
-  after  he  got  away." 

But  Jessie  paid  little  attention.  She  was  following  up  her 
own  thought. 

"  It  isn't  —  Conroy's?" 

James'  eyes  grew  cold. 


298       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  That  seems  to  worry  you  some,"  he  cried  coldly.  Then 
he  put  the  thing  aside  with  a  laugh.  "  You'll  get  used  to 
that  sort  of  talk  after  you've  been  here  awhile.  Say,  Jes  — " 

"  I  can  never  get  used  to  —  murder." 

The  woman's  eyes  were  alight  with  a  somber  fire.  She 
had  no  idea  of  whither  her  words  and  feelings  were  carrying 
her.  All  her  best  feelings  were  up  in  arms,  and  she,  too,  was 
touched  now  with  the  reckless  spirit  which  drove  these  peo- 
ple. There  was  no  hope  for  her  future.  There  was  no 
hope  whithersoever  she  looked.  And  now  that  she  had  seen 
her  children  were  still  safe  from  the  life  she  had  flung  her- 
self into,  she  cared  very  little  what  happened  to  her. 

But  the  cruel  despot,  to  whom  life  and  death  were  of  no 
account  whatsoever,  was  not  likely  to  deal  tenderly  long  with 
the  woman  he  desired  did  she  prove  anything  but  amenable. 
Now  her  words  stung  him  as  they  were  meant  to  sting,  and 
his  mouth  hardened. 

"  You're  talking  foolish,"  he  cried  in  that  coldly  metallic 
way  she  had  heard  him  use  before.  "  Conroy  got  all  he 
needed.  Maybe  he  deserved  more.  Anyhow,  ther's  only 
one  man  running  this  lay-out,  and  I'm  surely  that  man. 
Say  — "  again  he  changed.  This  time  it  was  a  change  back 
to  something  of  the  lover  she  knew,  and  at  once  he  became 
even  more  hateful  to  her — "things  missed  fire  at  —  the 
Creek.  I  didn't  get  hands  on  your  kids.  I  — " 

ff  I'm  glad."  Jessie  could  have  shouted  aloud  her  joy,  but 
ttte  man's  look  of  surprise  brought  caution,  and  she  qualified 
her  words.  u  No ;  we'd  best  leave  them,  after  all,"  she  said. 
"  You  see,  these  men  — " 

She  looked  fearlessly  into  his  face.  She  was  acting  as 
only  a  woman  can  act  when  the  object  of  her  affections  is 
threatened. 

And  her  lover  warmed  all  unsuspiciously.  It  would  have 
been  better  for  her  had  she  only  realized  her  power  over  him. 
But  she  was  not  clever.  She  was  not  even  brave. 


JAMES  299 

Tames  nodded. 

"  Sure,"  he  said ;  and  with  that  monosyllable  dismissed 
the  subject  from  his  mind  for  matters  that  gave  him  savage 
delight.  "  Say,  we've  had  a  good  round-up,"  he  went  on  — 
"  a  dandy  haul.  But  we're  going  to  do  better  —  oh  yes, 
much  better."  Then  his  smile  died  out.  He  had  almost 
forgotten  the  woman  in  the  contemplation  of  what  he  had  in 
his  mind.  This  man  was  wedded  to  his  villainies.  They 
came  before  all  else.  Jessie  was  his ;  he  was  sure  of  her. 
She  was  his  possession,  and  he  took  her  for  granted  now. 
The  excitement  of  his  trade  had  once  again  become  para- 
mount. 

"  Guess  Sufferin'  Creek  has  gone  plumb  crazy,"  he  went 
on  delightedly.  "  I've  had  boys  around  to  keep  me  posted. 
They  been  spotting  things.  Old  Minky  has  been  sittin'  so 
tight  I  guessed  I'd  have  to  raid  the  store  for  his  gold;  an' 
now  they've  opened  out.  That  buzzy-headed  old  fool's  goin' 
to  send  out  a  stage  loaded  down  with  dust.  It  starts 
Wednesday  morning,  an'  he  guesses  it's  to  win  through  to 
Spawn  City.  Gee!  An'  they're  shoutin'  about  it.  Say, 
Jess,  they  say  it's  to  carry  sixty  thousand  dollars.  Well,  it 
won't  carry  it  far.  That's  why  I'm  back  here  now.  That's 
why  I  quit  worrying  with  your  -kids  when  Wild  Bill  did  up 
Luke.  We  hustled  home  to  change  our  plugs,  an'  are  hittin' 
the  trail  again  right  away.  Sixty  thousand  dollars!  Gee! 
what  a  haul!  Say,  when  I've  taken  that" — he  moved  a 
step  nearer  and  dropped  his  voice  — "  we're  goin'  to  clear 
out  of  this  —  you  an'  me.  Those  guys  out  there  ain't  never 
going  to  touch  a  cent.  You  leave  that  to  me.  We'll  hit  for 
New  Mexico,  and  to  hell  with  the  north  country.  Say,  Jess, 
ain't  that  fine  ?  Fine  ?  "  he  went  on,  with  a  laugh.  "  It's 
fine  as  you  are." 

She  had  no  answer  for  him.  And  he  went  on  quite  heed- 
lessly, lost  in  admiration  of  his  own  scheme,  and  joy  at  the, 
prospect. 


300       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  We'll  settle  down  to  an  elegant  little  ranch,  most  respect- 
able like.  You  can  go  to  church.  Ha,  ha!  Yes,  you  can 
go  to  church  all  reg'lar.  You  can  make  clothes  fer  the  poor, 
an'  go  to  sociables  an'  things.  An'  meanwhiles  I  can  slip 
across  the  border  and  gather  up  a  few  things  —  just  to  keep 
my  hand  in  — " 

"  What  time  are  we  gettin'  out?  " 

James  swung  round  with  the  alertness  of  a  panther.  One 
of  the  men  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  a  burly  ruffian 
whose  face  was  turned  to  his  leader,  but  whose  cruel  eyes 
were  rudely  fixed  on  the  woman. 

"  In  ha'f-an-hour,"  cried  James,  with  a  swift  return  to  his 
harsh  command.  "  Tell  the  boys  to  vittle  for  three  days  an' 
roll  a  blanket.  We'll  need  'em  fer  sleep.  An',  say,"  he 
cried,  with  sudden  threat,  "  don't  you  git  around  here  again 
till  I  call  you.  Get  me?" 

There  was  no  mistaking  his  anger  at  the  interruption. 
There  was  no  mistaking  his  meaning.  The  man  slunk  away. 
But  as  James  turned  back  to  the  woman  his  previous  light- 
ness had  gone,  and  his  ill-humor  found  savage  expression. 

"  There's  someone  else  needing  a  lesson  besides  Conroy," 
he  snarled. 

Jessie  shivered. 

"  He  didn't  mean  harm,"  she  protested  weakly. 

"  Harm  ?  Harm  ?  He  was  staring  at  you.  You  ain't  fer 
sech  scum  as  him  to  stare  at.  I'll  have  to  teach  him." 

The  man  was  lashing  himself  to  that  merciless  fury  Jessie 
had  once  before  witnessed,  and  now  she  foolishly  strove  to 
appease  him.  She  laughed.  It  was  a  forced  laugh,  but  it 
served  her  purpose,  for  the  man's  brow  cleared  instantly, 
and  his  thoughts  diverted  to  a  full  realization  of  her  pres- 
ence, and  all  she  meant  to  him. 

"  You  can  laugh,"  he  said,  his  eyes  darkening  with  sudden 
lustful  passion.  "  But  I  can't  have  folks  —  starin'  at  you. 
Say,  Jess,  you  don't  know,  you  can't  think,  how  I  feel  about 


JAMES  301 

you.  You're  jest  mine  —  mine."  His  teeth  clipped  to- 
gether with  the  force  of  his  emotion.  The  brute  in  him 
urged  him  as  madly  in  his  desire  as  it  did  in  his  harsher  tem- 
pers. "  I  just  don't  care  for  nothing  else  but  you.  An' —  I 
got  you  now.  Here,  you  haven't  kissed  me  since  I  came 
back.  I'd  forgot,  thinking  of  that  sixty  thousand  of  gold- 
dust.  I'm  off  again  in  ha'f-an-hour  —  an'  I  won't  be  back 
for  three  days.  Here  — " 

His  arms  were  held  out  and  he  drew  nearer.  But  now 
the  woman  drew  back  in  unmistakable  horror. 

"  Say/'  he  cried  in  a  voice  still  passionate,  yet  half  angry, 
"  you  don't  need  to  get  away.  Ther's  a  wall  back  of  you." 
Then,  as  she  still  shrank  back,  and  he  saw  the  obvious  terror 
in  her  eyes,  his  swift-changing  mood  lost  its  warmth  of  pas- 
sion and  left  it  only  angry.  "  Ther's  three  other  walls  an'  a 
door  to  this  room,  an'  I  can  easy  shut  the  door." 

He  reached  out  and  caught  her  by  one  arm.  He  swung 
her  to  him  as  though  she  were  a  child.  There  was  no  es- 
cape. She  struggled  to  free  herself,  but  her  strength  was  as 
the  strength  of  a  babe  to  his,  and  in  a  moment  she  was 
caught  in  his  arms  and  hugged  to  his  breast.  She  writhed  to 
free  herself,  but  her  efforts  made  no  impression.  And,  hav- 
ing possession  of  her,  the  man  laughed.  It  was  not  a  pleas- 
ant laugh.  He  looked  down  at  her.  Her  head  was  thrown 
back  to  avoid  him.  His  hot  eyes  grinned  tantalizingly  into 
her  face. 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said.  "  You  got  to  kiss  me.  You're 
mine.  No,  no,  don't  you  bother  to  kick  any.  You  can't  get 
away.  Now,  Jess,  kiss  me.  Kiss  me  good  —  good  an' 
plenty."  His  arms  crushed  her  closer.  "  What,  you  won't? 
You  won't  kiss  me  ?  Ha,  ha !  Maybe  that's  why  you  ran 
back  into  the  house  when  I  come  along.  Maybe  that's  why 
you  wouldn't  answer  when  I  called.  What's  come  to  you  ?  " 

He  held  her,  waiting  for  a  reply.  But  the  woman  was 
beyond  speech  in  her  horror  and  rage.  She  was  no  longer 


302       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

terrified.  She  was  beside  herself  with  fury  and  revolting. 
She  hated  the  crushing  arms  about  her  —  the  arms  of  a  mur- 
derer. That  one  word  stood  out  in  her  mind,  maddening 
her.  She  would  not  kiss  him.  She  could  not.  She  gasped 
and  struggled.  She  wanted  to  shriek  for  help,  but  that,  she 
knew,  was  useless. 

"  Let  me  go !  "  she  cried,  her  voice  hoarse  with  a  fury 
equal  to  anything  he  was  capable  of. 

But  he  only  held  her  the  tighter ;  he  only  grinned  the  more. 
He,  too,  was  furious.  He,  too,  meant  to  have  his  way.  He 
was  determined  she  should  submit. 

Submission,  however,  was  the  farthest  from  her  thoughts. 
He  bent  his  head  forward.  It  came  nearer  to  her  up-thrown 
chin. 

"  Let  me  go !     Let  me  go,  you  —  you  —  murderer !  " 

It  was  out.  She  had  no  longer  any  power  of  restraint. 
And  as  the  word  hissed  upon  the  air  the  man's  whole  body 
seemed  to  suddenly  stiffen.  His  arms  tightened,  and  she 
felt  her  ribs  bend  under  their  terrific  pressure. 

"  Murderer,  eh  ? "  she  heard  him  cry,  with  an  oath. 
"  Murderer,  eh  ?  Now  you  shall  kiss  me.  Kiss  me,  you 
wild-cat  —  kiss  me !  " 

As  he  spoke  one  hand  was  lifted  to  the  back  of  her  head. 
He  pressed  it  forward,  and  she  was  forced  slowly,  slowly, 
fighting  every  inch  of  the  way  to  keep  her  face  out  of  reach 
of  his  lips.  His  face  drew  nearer  hers.  She  felt  his  hot 
breath  upon  her  cheeks.  She  shut  her  eyes  to  keep  the  sight 
of  his  hated,  terrifying  eyes  out,  but  ever  his  lips  came 
nearer. 

"  What's  come  over  you,  you  little  fool  ? "  he  cried 
fiercely.  "  What  is  it  ?  Now,  by  hell !  whatever  it  is,  you 
shall  —  you  shall  kiss  me." 

With  a  sudden  exertion  of  his  great  strength  he  crushed 
her  face  to  his,  and  the  next  instant  flung  her  from  him  with 
a  fierce  cry  of  pain  and  rage. 


JAMES  303 

"  You  — !  "  he  shouted,  as  she  fell  in  a  heap  against  the 
wall. 

The  blood  was  streaming  from  his  cheek  where  her  .strong 
teeth  had  bitten  deep  into  the  flesh.  His  hand  went  up  to 
the  mauled  flesh,  and  murder  glared  out  of  his  eyes  as  he 
contemplated  her  huddled  figure  lying  motionless  where 
he  had  flung  her.  And  for  one  second  it  looked  as  though 
he  intended  to  complete  the  work  he  had  begun,  and  kill  her 
where  she  lay,  in  the  same  manner  in  which  he  had  treated 
the  luckless  Conroy. 

He  stared  insanely  at  her  for  some  moments.  Then  a 
change  came  over  him,  and  he  turned  to  the  door. 

"  When  I  come  back,  my  girl !  When  I  come  back !  "  he 
muttered  threateningly. 

At  the  door  he  paused  and  looked  back.  But  his  look  was 
mercifully  hidden  from  his  victim  by  unconsciousness. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   GOLD-STAGE 

Two  days  of  excitement  were  quite  sufficient  to  upset  the 
nerves  of  Suffering  Creek.  The  only  excitement  it  was  used 
to  was  the  sudden  discovery  of  an  extra  good  find  of  gold. 
The  camp  understood  that.  It  was  like  an  inspiration  to  the 
creative  worker.  It  stimulated  the  energies,  it  uplifted. 
Any  other  sort  of  excitement  had  a  paralyzing  effect.  And 
thus  the  excitement  of  the  present  Sunday  and  Monday  en- 
tirely upset  the  rest  of  the  week's  work. 

Everybody  felt  that  the  happenings  of  those  days  were 
merely  the  forerunners  of  something  yet  to  come,  of  some- 
thing even  more  startling.  And  the  restlessness  of  uncer- 
tainty as  to  its  nature  kept  the  population  hanging  about  the 
camp,  fearful  that,  in  their  absence,  things  might  occur,  and 
they  would  miss  participation  in  them. 

The  inhabitants  of  Suffering  Creek  were  a  virile  race, 
strongly  human,  full  of  interest  in  passing  events,  and  men 
of  appetite  for  any  slices  of  life  that  might  come  their  way. 
So,  having  "  cashed  in  "  to  the  "  limit  "  all  the  gold-dust  they 
possessed,  they  felt  they  were  entitled  to  spend  a  few  days  in 
watching  events,  and  a  few  dollars  in  passing  the  time 
until  such  events,  if  any,  should  come  within  their  range  of 
vision. 

What  events  were  expected  it  is  doubtful  if  the  most 
inventive  could  have  put  into  words.  The  general  opinion 
expressed  —  out  of  Minky's  hearing,  of  course,  but  to  the 
accompaniment  of  deep  libations  of  his  most  execrable 
whisky  —  was  that,  personally,  that  astute  trader  was,  for 


THE  GOLD-STAGE  305 

some  unaccountable  reason,  rapidly  qualifying  for  the  "  bug- 
house," and  that  the  only  thing  due  from  them  was  to  display 
their  loyalty  to  him  by  humoring  him  to  the  extent  of  dis- 
counting all  the  "  dust  "  they  could  lay  hands  on,  and  wishing 
him  well  out  of  the  trouble  he  seemed  bent  on  laying  up  for 
himself.  Meanwhile  they  would  take  a  holiday  on  the  pro- 
ceeds of  their  traffic,  and,  out  of  sheer  good-fellowship, 
stand  by  to  help,  or  at  least  applaud,  when  the  denouement 
came. 

Many  of  the  shrewder  men  looked  to  Wild  Bill  to  give  a 
key  to  the  situation.  They  knew  him  to  be  Minky's  closest 
friend.  Besides  that,  he  was  a  man  intensely  "  wide  "  and 
far-seeing  in  matters  pertaining  to  such  a  situation  as  at 
present  existed. 

But  Wild  Bill,  in  this  case,  was  the  blankest  of  blanks  in 
the  lottery  of  their  draw  for  information.  Whether  this 
blankness  was  real  or  affected  men  could  not  make  up  their 
minds.  The  gambler  was  so  unlike  his  usual  self.  The 
hard,  rough,  autocratic  manner  of  the  man  seemed  to  have 
undergone  a  subtle  change.  He  went  about  full  of  geniality 
and  a  lightness  his  fellow-citizens  had  never  before  observed 
in  him.  And,  besides,  he  had  suddenly  become  the  only  man 
in  the  place  who  seemed  to  lack  interest  in  the  doings  of  the 
James  gang.  Even,  beyond  the  bare  facts  of  the  outrage 
down  by  the  river  on  Sunday  morning,  he  could  not  be 
cajoled  into  discussing  that  individual  or  his  doings. 

No,  his  immediate  interest  apparently  lay  in  his  newly  pur- 
chased half-claim.  He  spent  the  Monday  afternoon  there 
watching  the  unwilling  Sandy  sweating  at  his  labors.  And 
on  the  Tuesday  he  even  passed  him  a  helping  hand.  It  did 
not  occur  to  these  men  that  Bill  kept  away  to  avoid  their 
cross-questionings.  It  only  seemed  to  them  that  his  new  toy 
had  a  greater  fascination  for  him  than  those  things  which 
made  for  the  welfare  of  the  community;  that  his  inexperi- 
enced eyes  were  blinded  to  the  facts  which  were  patent 


306       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

enough  to  them  :  namely,  that  he  had  bought  the  most  worth- 
less property  in  the  district. 

So  they  laughed,  behind  his  back,  and  shrugged  their  great 
shoulders  pityingly,  and  their  pity  was  also  touched  with 
resentment  that  his  interest  in  Suffering  Creek  could  be  so 
easily  diverted.  It  was  Joe  Brand  who  handed  them  a  most 
excellent  laugh  on  the  subject,  though  the  laugh  was  rather 
at  than  with  him. 

He  was  talking  to  Van  and  White  and  several  other  men 
at  one  of  the  tables  in  the  store.  Whisky  had  brightened  his 
eyes,  which  had  been  quietly  smiling  for  some  time  as  the 
talk  of  Bill  went  round.  Then  he  suddenly  bent  forward 
and  arrested  the  general  attention. 

"  Say,  boys,"  he  cried,  "  here's  a  good  one  for  you. 
What's  the  difference  between  Wild  Bill  and  Minky?  " 

Van  promptly  guffawed. 

"Gee!"  he  cried,  "ther'  ain't  none.  They're  sure  both 
'bug/" 

A  great  laugh  greeted  the  retort,  but  Joe  shook  his  head. 

"  That  sure  ain't  the  answer,  but  it's  real  bright,"  he 
admitted  reluctantly,  while  Van  preened  himself. 

"  Guess  they're  both  that  wise  they  don't  know  if  they're 
comin'  down  or  goin'  up,"  he  went  on,  seeking  to  add  to  the 
score  he  felt  he  had  made. 

But  Joe  felt  he  was  being  robbed  of  the  fruits  of  his  effort, 
and  promptly  insisted  upon  his  riddle. 

"What's  the  diff'rence  between  Wild  Bill  an'  Minky?" 
he  asked  again,  this  time  with  added  emphasis. 

He  waited  impatiently  until  one  of  the  men  shook  his  head, 
when  he  snatched  at  the  opportunity  of  firing  his  quip. 

"  Why,"  he  cried,  with  a  shout  of  delight,  "  Bill's  put  his 
gold  into  a  mudbank,  an'  Minky 's  jest  yearnin'  to  set  his  gold 
into  any  old  bank,"  and  fell  back  laughing  furiously. 

But  he  had  his  merriment  to  himself.  Van,  feeling  he 
had  the  company  with  him,  sneered. 


THE  GOLD-STAGE  307 

"  Gee !  that's  the  worst  ever,"  he  cried  witheringly. 

White  spat  out  a  chew  of  tobacco. 

"  I'd  say  you're  that  bright  you'd  orter  write  comic  Bible 
trac's,"  he  declared. 

But  even  in  his  failure  as  a  humorist  Joe  Brand  gave 
expression  to  the  general  opinion  of  the  two  men  who,  up 
till  that  time,  had  been  accounted,  to  use  a  local  expression, 
the  "  wisest  guys  west  o'  Spawn  City." 

Certainly,  for  the  time  being,  the  mighty  had  fallen,  and 
their  associates,  in  the  persons  of  Sunny  Oak,  Toby  Jenks 
and  Sandy  Joyce,  had  to  stand  by  listening  to  remarks 
against  their  fellow  Trust  members  which,  though  distinctly 
offensive,  they  yet,  in  justice,  had  to  admit  were  perfectly 
warranted  on  the  face  of  things.  Even  Scipio,  mild  little 
man  as  he  was,  had  to  endure  considerable  chaff,  which  wor- 
ried and  annoyed  him,  as  to  the  way  in  which  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  bluffing  so  shrewd  a  "  guy  "  as  Wild  Bill  into 
purchasing  half  his  claim. 

But  these  things  were  only  sidelights  on  the  feelings  of 
the  moment.  Expectancy  was  at  fever-heat,  and  each  and 
every  man  was  wondering  what  was  about  to  happen.  For 
though  their  belief  in  Bill  and  Minky  had  received  a  jolt, 
long  months  of  experience  had  sown  in  them  an  appreciation 
that  took  a  power  of  uprooting. 

The  Monday  and  Tuesday  passed  without  development  of 
any  sort.  There  were  several  conferences  between  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Trust,  but  these  were'  really  only  meetings  at 
which  the  lesser  members  received  more  minute  instructions 
for  the  carrying  out  of  their  duties  on  the  Wednesday.  No 
information  otherwise  was  forthcoming  for  them  from  either 
Minky  or  the  president,  and  all  attempt  to  extort  any  was 
promptly  nipped  in  the  bud  by  the  latter  without  the  least 
compunction  or  courtesy. 

Sandy  resented  this  attitude.  Sunny  complained  of  the 
lack  of  confidence.  But  Toby  sat  back  immensely  enjoying 


308       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

the  chagrin  of  his  two  friends,  and  cordially  swore  that  both 
Minky  and  Bill  knew  a  large-meshed  sieve  when  they  saw 
one. 

Tuesday  night  was  a  memorable  one  on  Suffering  Creek. 
Never  had  there  been  such  a  gathering  in  Minky's  store  ;  and 
his  heart  must  have  been  rejoiced  to  see  the  manner  in  which 
so  many  of  the  dollars  he  had  expended  in  the  purchase  of 
gold-dust  came  fluttering  back  to  their  nest  in  his  till.  The 
camp  appeared  to  have  made  up  its  mind  to  an  orgy  of  the 
finest  brand.  Drink  flowed  and  overflowed.  The  store  that 
night  fairly  swam  in  whisky.  The  flood  set  in  the  moment 
supper  was  finished,  and  from  that  time  until  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning  the  lusty  storekeeper  never  had  a  moment's  rest. 

Men  drank  themselves  drunk,  and  drank  themselves  sober 
again.  There  was  no  poker  or  faro.  No  one  wanted  to 
gamble.  There  was  sufficient  gamble  in  their  minds  on  the 
subject  of  to-morrow's  stage  to  satisfy  them  for  the  moment. 
Would  it  get  through?  That  was  the  question.  And  the 
general  opinion  was  an  emphatic  denial. 

How  could  it?  Had  not  scouts  been  sent  out  inquiring 
of  outlying  settlers  as  to  the  prospect  of  a  clear  road  ?  Had 
not  information  come  in  that  James  was  abroad,  had  been 
seen  in  a  dozen  different  places  in  the  district  ?  Had  not  the 
belief  become  general  that  the  Spawn  City  trail  was  being 
carefully  watched,  and  even  patrolled,  by  this  common 
enemy?  Everybody  knew  that  these  things  were  so.  The 
whole  of  this  stage  business  was  simply  flying  in  the  face  of 
Providence. 

And  amidst  all  the  comment  and  talk  Minky  served  the 
requirements  of  his  customers,  wrapped  in  sphinx-like  re- 
serve. His  geniality  never  failed  him.  He  had  a  pleasant 
word  for  everybody.  And  at  every  gibe,  at  every  warning, 
he  beamed  and  nodded,  but  otherwise  could  not  be  drawn 
into  controversy.  One  remark,  and  one  only,  had  he  for  all 
and  sundry  who  chose  him  as  a  butt  for  their  pleasantries. 


THE  GOLD-STAGE  309 

"  Wai,"  he  declared  easily,  "  if  I  ladled  out  good  United 
States  currency,  to  feed  that  bum  tough  James  an'  his  crew  o' 
hawks,  seems  to  me  its  findin'  its  way  home  right  smart." 

It  was  quite  true.  He  stood  to  win  in  every  direction. 
Sooner  or  later  every  cent  of  money  he  had  paid  out  in  the 
purchase  of  gold  would  find  its  way  back  to  him,  and  go  to 
help  swell  the  fortune  which  was  the  effort  of  his  life. 
These  men  had  not  the  commercial  instinct  of  Minky.  And, 
furthermore,  his  meeting  at  night  with  the  gambler,  and  its 
resulting  compact,  was  still  a  secret. 

The  popular  laugh  was  for  the  moment  against  him,  but 
he  continued  to  smile.  And  he  knew  that  his  smile  would 
last  the  longer.  He  would  still  be  smiling  when  even  the 
ghost  of  their  laugh  had  been  laid  to  rest. 

Sore  heads  were  no  deterrent  next  morning.  Pillows 
were  deserted  at  an  early  hour.  And  those  who  had  found 
it  convenient  to  pass  the  brief  remainder  of  the  night  in  their 
heavy,  clay-soiled  boots  had  the  advantage  of  breakfasting 
at  the  first  hot  rush  of  Birdie's  ministrations.  And  Birdie, 
with  the  understanding  of  her  kind,  had  bestowed  special  at- 
tention upon  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the  coffee,  leaving 
the  solid  side  of  the  meal  almost  unconsidered.  It  was  her 
duty  to  sooth  parching  throats,  and  she  knew  her  duty. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning.  The  sun  rose  radiant  in  a 
cloudless  sky.  The  air  was  still,  so  still.  But  the  mountain 
chill  began  to  give  way  from  the  first  moment  that  the  great 
arc  of  daylight  lifted  its  dazzling  crown  above  the  horizon. 
The  quiet  of  the  morning  was  perfect.  It  almost  seemed  as 
if  Nature  itself  had  hushed  to  an  expectant  silence.  The 
woe  of  the  night-prowling  coyote  at  the  sight  of  the  dawn 
found  no  voice.  The  frogs  upon  the  creek  had  not  yet  be- 
gun their  morning  song.  Even  the  camp  dogs,  whose  cease- 
less "  yap  "  made  hideous  all  their  waking  hours,  for  some 
subtle  reason  moved  about  in  quest  of  their  morning  meal  as 


3io       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

though  their  success  depended  upon  the  stealth  of  their 
movements. 

Blear-eyed  men  appeared  in  their  doorways  half  awake, 
and  only  just  recovering  from  their  overnight  orgy.  They 
stood  for  some  moments  voiceless  and  thoughtful.  Then 
the  concentration  upon  the  store  began.  It  was  strange  to 
look  upon.  It  was  an  almost  simultaneous  movement. 
These  half-dazed,  wholly  sick  creatures  moved  with  the  pre- 
cision of  a  universally  impelling  force.  The  store  might 
have  been  one  huge  magnet  —  perhaps  it  was  —  and  these 
dejected  early  risers  mere  atoms  of  steel. 

But  the  store  reached,  that  wonderfully  revivifying  hair 
of  the  tail,  etc.,  partaken  of,  and  a  rapid  change  supervened. 
Quarts  of  coffee  and  some  trifling  solid  further  stimulated 
jaded  energies,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  the  memory  that  the 
day  was  Wednesday,  and  that  the  gold-stage  was  to  set  out 
upon  its  eventful  journey,  became  the  chief  thought  in  every 
mind.  Curiosity  and  excitement  ran  riot,  and  questions  flew 
from  lip  to  lip.  How  had  Minky  provided  for  the  safeguard- 
ing of  his  gold  ?  Had  he  arranged  for  an  adequate  escort  ? 
To  whom  was  the  gold  to  be  entrusted? 

The  store  was  full  of  men.  The  veranda  overflowed  with 
them.  There  were  men  of  almost  every  nationality  —  from 
half-breed  Mexicans,  popularly  dubbed "gorl-durned  Dagos," 
to  the  stolid  Briton,  the  virile  New  Yorker,  the  square- 
headed  Teuton,  the  lithe,  graceful  prairie  man  from  the 
Southern  States.  But  the  usual  noisy  discussion  of  the 
world's  affairs,  as  viewed  from  the  hidden  valley  in  which 
lay  Suffering  Creek,  had  no  vital  interest  just  now.  And, 
after  the  first  rush  of  burning  questions,  a  hush  fell  upon 
the  assembly,  and  it  quickly  composed  itself,  in  various  atti- 
tudes and  positions  of  advantage,  to  await,  in  what  patience 
it  could,  the  satisfying  of  its  curiosity. 

Soon  the  hush  became  oppressive.  It  almost  became  a 
burden.  Men  stirred  uneasily  under  it ;  they  chafed.  And 


THE  GOLD-STAGE  311 

at  last  Joe  Brand  found  himself  voicing  something  of  the 
feelings  of  everybody.  He  spoke  in  a  whisper  which,  for 
the  life  of  him,  he  could  not  have  raised  to  full  voice.  He 
was  standing  next  to  White,  and  he  took  him  confidentially 
by  the  shoulder  and  spoke,  leaning  over  till  his  lips  were  on 
a  level  with  his  ear. 

"  I  allow  funerals  is  joyous  things  an'  nigger  lynchin's  is 
real  comic,"  he  declared  hoarsely.  "  But  fer  real  rollickin' 
merriment  I  never  see  the  equal  o'  this  yer  gatherin'.  I  sure 
don't  think  it  'ud  damp  things  any  ef  I  was  to  give  'em  a 
Doxology." 

The  miner  responded  with  a  pensive  smile. 

"  Mebbe  you're  right  'bout  funerals  an'  nigger  lynchin's," 
he  whispered  back,  "  but  they's  jest  a  matter  o'  livin'  an' 
dyin'.  Y'see,  Minky's  gamblin'  sixty  thousand  dollars  o' 
good  red  gold." 

Brand  nodded.  And  somehow  he  appreciated  the  point 
and  became  easier. 

Later  on  Minky  appeared  in  the  store,  and  almost  auto- 
matically every  eye  was  turned  expectantly  upon  him.  But 
he  had  only  come  to  ascertain  if  Wild  Bill  was  about. 

No,  the  gambler  had  not  been  seen.  Someone  jocularly 
suggested  that  he  and  Zip  were  out  visiting  Sandy  Joyce 
upon  their  claim.  None  of  the  three  had  been  seen  that 
morning.  But  the  levity  was  allowed  to  pass  without  a 
smile,  and  Minky  disappeared  again  into  the  back  regions  of 
his  store. 

After  that  the  time  passed  even  more  slowly.  The  store 
emptied ;  the  men  moved  out  into  the  sunlight  to  await  the 
first  sight  of  the  stage.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do. 
Such  was  their  saturation  of  the  previous  night  that  even 
drink  had  no  attraction  at  this  early  hour.  So  they  sat  or 
lounged  about,  gazing  out  at  the  distant  upland  across  the 
river.  There  lay  the  vanishing-point  of  the  Spawn  City 
trail,  and  beyond  that  they  knew  the  danger-zone  to  lie.  It 


312       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

was  a  danger-zone  they  all  understood,  and,  hardy  as  they 
were,  they  could  not  understand  anyone  mad  enough  to  risk 
a  fortune  of  gold  within  its  radius.  Not  one  of  them  would 
have  faced  it  singly  with  so  little  as  twenty  dollars  in  his 
pocket,  much  less  laboring  under  the  burden  of  sixty  thou- 
sand dollars.  And  yet  somebody  was  going  to  do  so  to-day. 

A  pounding  of  hoofs  and  crunching  of  wheels  suddenly 
swept  all  apathy  away.  Every  eye  lit;  every  head  turned. 
And  in  a  moment  Suffering  Creek  was  on  its  feet,  agog  with 
the  intensest  interest.  For  one  brief  moment  the  rattle  and 
clatter  continued.  Then,  from  round  the  corner,  with  bits 
champing  and  satin  coats  gleaming  in  the  sun,  their  silver- 
mounted  harness  sparkling,  Wild  Bill's  treasured  team  of  six 
horses  swept  into  view.  Round  they  swung,  hitched  to  his 
well-known  spring-cart,  and  in  a  second  had  drawn  up  with 
a  flourish  in  front  of  the  veranda. 

A  gasp  of  astonishment  greeted  this  unexpected  vision. 
Men  stood  gaping  at  the  beaming  choreman  sitting  perched 
up  on  the  driving-seat.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
had  ever  been  allowed  to  handle  the  gambler's  equine  chil- 
dren, and  his  joy  and  pride  were  written  in  every  furrow  of 
his  age-lined  features. 

The  man  sat  waiting,  while  the  thoroughbreds  pawed  the 
ground  and  reached  restively  at  their  bits.  But  they  were 
like  babes  to  handle,  for  their  manners  were  perfect.  They 
had  been  taught  by  a  master-hand  whose  lessons  had  been 
well  learned.  And  the  picture  they  made  was  one  that  in- 
spired admiration  and  envy  in  every  eye  and  heart  of  those 
who  now  beheld  them. 

But  these  were  not  the  only  emotions  the  sight  provoked. 
Blank  astonishment  and  incredulous  wonder  stirred  them, 
too.  Bill's  horses!  Bill's  cart!  Where  —  where  was  the 
gambler  himself?  Was  this  the  stage?  Was  Bill — ? 

The  talk  which  had  been  so  long  suppressed  now  broke 
out  afresh.  Everybody  asked  questions,  but  nobody  an- 


THE  GOLD-STAGE  313 

swered  any.  They  crowded  about  the  cart.  They  inspected 
the  horses  with  eyes  of  admiration  and  wonder.  No  man 
could  have  withstood  the  sight  of  the  rope-like  veins  stand- 
ing out  through  their  velvet  skin.  They  fondled  them,  and 
talked  to  them  as  men  will  talk  to  horses.  And  it  was  only 
when  Minky  suddenly  appeared  in  their  midst,  bearing  in 
his  arms  an  iron-clamped  case  which  he  deposited  in  the 
body  of  the  cart,  that  their  attention  was  diverted,  and  they 
remembered  the  purpose  in  hand. 

The  gold-chest  deposited  and  made  secure,  the  storekeeper 
turned  to  the  crowd  about  him. 

"  Well,  boys,"  he  said,  with  an  amiable  smile,  "  any  more 
mail  ?  Any  you  fellers  got  things  you  need  to  send  to  your 
sisters  —  or  somebody  else's  sisters  ?  You  best  get  it  ready 
sharp.  We're  startin'  at  eight  o'clock.  After  that  you'll 
sure  be  too  late.  Y'see,"  he  added  humorously,  "  we  ain't 
figgered  when  the  next  stage  goes."  He  pulled  out  his 
nickel  silver  timepiece.  "  It's  needin'  five  minutes  to  sched- 
ule," he  went  on  officially,  glancing  keenly  down  the  trail. 
Anyone  sufficiently  observant,  and  had  they  been  quick 
enough,  might  have  detected  a  shade  of  anxiety  in  his  glance. 
He  moved  round  to  the  side  of  the  cart  and  spoke  to  the 
man  in  the  driving-seat. 

"  It's  nigh  eight.     He  ain't  here  ?  "  he  said  questioningly. 

"  Guess  he'll  be  right  along,  boss,"  the  little  man  returned 
in  a  low  voice. 

Again  the  storekeeper  glanced  anxiously  down  the  trail. 
Then  he  turned  away  with  a  slight  sigh. 

"  Well,  boys,"  he  said,  with  another  attempt  at  jocularity, 
"  if  ther'  ain't  nuthin'  doin',  guess  this  mail's  sure  closed." 

Passing  again  to  the  back  of  the  cart,  he  gazed  affection- 
ately upon  the  gold-chest.  Then  he  lifted  his  eyes  just  as 
Van  voiced  the  question  in  everybody's  mind. 

"  You  sure  ain't  sendin'  pore  old  Danny  with  that  stage  ?  " 
he  cried  incredulously.  "  You  sure  ain't  sendin'  him  fer 


3i4       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

James  to  sift  lead  through?    You  ain't  lettin'  him  drive 
Bill's  horses?" 

"  He  sure  ain't.  Him  drive  my  plugs  ?  Him  ?  Gee ! 
Ther'  ain't  no  one  but  me  drives  them  hosses  —  not  if  Con- 
gress passed  it  a  law." 

The  harsh,  familiar  voice  of  Wild  Bill  grated  contemp- 
tuously. He  had  come  up  from  his  hut  all  unnoticed  just  in 
time  to  hear  Van's  protesting  inquiry.  Now  he  stood  with 
eyes  only  for  his  horses. 

Daylight  at  last  shone  through  the  mist  of  doubt  and 
puzzlement  which  had  kept  the  citizens  of  Suffering  Creek 
in  darkness  so  long.  They  looked  at  this  lean,  harsh  figure 
and  understood.  Here  was  the  driver  of  the  stage,  and, 
curiously,  with  this  realization  their  doubts  of  its  welfare 
lessened.  All  along  they  had  been  blaming  Bill  for  his  lack 
of  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  camp,  and  now  — 

They  watched  him  with  keen,  narrowing  eyes.  What 
mad  game  was  he  contemplating?  They  noted  his  dress.  It 
was  different  to  that  which  he  usually  wore.  His  legs  were 
encased  in  sheepskin  chaps.  He  was  wearing  a  belt  about 
his  waist  from  which  hung  a  heavy  pair  of  guns.  And 
under  his  black,  shiny,  short  coat  he  was  wearing  a  simple 
buckskin  shirt. 

They  watched  him  as  he  moved  round  his  horses,  examin- 
ing the  fit  of  the  bridles  and  the  fastenings  of  the  harness. 
He  looked  to  the  buckles  of  the  reins.  He  smoothed  the 
satin  coats  of  his  children  with  affectionate  hand.  Then  in 
a  moment  they  saw  him  spring  into  the  cart. 

Taking  the  reins  from  the  choreman,  he  settled  himself 
into  the  driving-seat,  while  the  deposed  charioteer  clam- 
bered stiffly  to  the  ground. 

Minky  was  at  the  wheel  nearest  to  his  friend.  The 
horses,  under  the  master-hand,  had  suddenly  become  restive. 
Bill  bent  over,  and  the  storekeeper  craned  up  towards  him. 

"  Ther*  was  two  fellers  hit  the  trail  this  morning,"  the 


THE  GOLD-STAGE  315 

gambler  said,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  I  see  'em  when  I  was 
with  Zip — 'fore  daylight." 

"  You  —  you  best  quit  it,"  said  Minky  in  serious,  anxious 
tones.  "  We  kin,  maybe,  hold  the  gold  up  against  him  here. 
It  ain't  too  late.  It  ain't,  sure." 

Bill's  face  suddenly  darkened.  All  the  lightness  which 
the  prospect  before  him  had  inspired  suddenly  left  it.  His 
words  came  so  full  of  bitter  hatred  that  the  other  was 
startled. 

"  Not  for  a  million-dollar  halo ! "  he  cried,  reaching  out 
for  his  long  whip. 

With  a  dexterous  swing  he  set  it  cracking  over  his  horses' 
backs.  The  high-strung  beasts  plunged  at  their  bits,  and  the 
leaders  started  to  rear.  Again  he  swung  out  his  whip,  and 
this  time  it  flicked  the  plunging  leaders.  Instantly  there 
was  a  rush  of  feet  and  a  scrunch  of  wheels.  The  "  tugs  " 
pulled  taut,  and  the  gush  of  eager  nostrils  hissed  like  steam 
upon  the  still  air.  There  was  a  shout  of  farewell  from  the 
onlookers,  and  the  gambler  turned  in  his  seat. 

"  So  long,  fellers,"  he  cried.  "  I'm  makin'  Spawn  City 
by  daylight  to-morrer  —  sure." 

The  next  moment  he  was  lost  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  as  the 
horses  raced  down  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

ON  THE  SPAWN  CITY  TRAIL 

WILD  BILL'S  lean  hands  clawed  the  reins  with  muscles  of 
steel.  For  the  moment  his  six  horses  occupied  his  every 
thought.  They  were  pulling  with  the  madness  of  high-bred 
racehorses.  The  trail  lay  before  them,  their  master  sat  be- 
hind. What  more  could  they  want,  but  that  liberty  to 
stretch  their  willing  bodies? 

Down  the  hill  and  along  the  wood-lined  trail  that  ran 
parallel  to  the  sluggish  creek  they  raced.  The  dust  rose 
under  their  feet,  and  the  wheels  of  the  cart  left  a  fog  be- 
hind them.  It  rose  in  swirling  clouds  as  though  to  shut  off 
all  retreat.  Presently  the  road  narrowed  to  a  mere  track, 
and  the  dark  woods  closed  in.  But  there  was  no  slacken- 
ing under  the  hand  of  the  gambler.  Nor  had  the  horses  any 
desire  to  slacken  their  headlong  rush.  The  woods  broke 
and  gave  to  a  low  bush,  and  in  a  moment  the  track  opened 
upon  Scipio's  claim. 

Now,  for  the  first  time  since  the  start  as  they  swept  across 
it,  Bill  permitted  his  gaze  to  wander  from  his  charges.  He 
looked  away  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  Sandy  had  spent  so 
much  labor  and  such  bitter  cursing  in  the  process  of  con- 
structing; and  a  half -smile  flitted  across  his  hard  face  as  he 
beheld  the  oozy  debris,  the  idle  tools,  the  winch  and  buckets. 
The  sight  seemed  to  afford  him  amusement.  There  was  a 
softening,  too,  in  his  hard  face.  Maybe  it  was  the  result  of 
his  amusement.  Maybe  it  was  due  to  some  thought  of  the 
little  man  with  whom  he  was  partners.  But  he  seemed  to 
freeze  up  again  as  the  claim  passed,  and  the  horses  floun- 


ON  THE  SPAWN  CITY  TRAIL  317 

dered  over  the  heavy  trail  beside  the  black,  oily  swamp  be- 
yond. It  was  bad  driving  here,  and  he  steadied  the  racing 
creatures  down  with  voice  and  hand. 

"  Easy,  Gipsy.  Easy  you,  Pete.  Now  Maisie.  So ! 
Steady,  boys.  Easy !  " 

The  harsh  voice  was  hushed  and  gentle.  He  was  speak- 
ing to  creatures  that  were  not  merely  horses  to  him,  but 
something  nearer,  perhaps  even  dearer. 

And  the  well-trained  creatures  responded  at  once,  slowing 
to  an  easy  trot,  a  pace  which  they  kept  until  the  ford  of  the 
creek  was  reached.  Here  they  dropped  to  a  walk  as  they 
splashed  their  way  through  the  turgid  stream.  But  the 
moment  the  wheels  of  the  cart  topped  the  opposite  bank, 
they  once  more  resumed  their  headlong  gait. 

At  once  the  gambler  sat  up.  He  straightened  his  lean  body 
as  a  man  who  opens  his  lungs  to  breathe  in  deep  draughts  of 
fresh,  bracing  air.  His  narrow  eyes  stared  out  aside  of  him 
and  beyond.  His  nostrils  expanded,  and  his  thin  lips  were 
tightly  shut. 

The  camp  was  behind  him.  The  trail,  a  hard,  wide  sand 
trail,  lay  ahead.  The  wide,  wild  world  was  about  him  on 
every  hand,  reminding  him  of  days  long  gone  by,  reminding 
him  that  to-day  his  instincts  were  still  the  same.  The  same 
fiery,  militant  spirit  that  had  driven  him  from  one  end  of  his 
country  to  the  other  still  left  him  yearning  for  the  ruthless 
battle  of  wild  places  and  wilder  men.  The  long  months  of 
inactivity,  the  long  days  of  peace,  the  longer  nights  of  his 
gambler's  craft,  were  for  the  moment  gone.  He  was  setting 
out,  as  in  the  old  days,  surrounded  by  all  in  life  he  cared  for, 
offering  a  challenge  to  all  the  world,  ready  to  grapple  with 
whatsoever  the  gods  of  war  might  choose  to  thrust  in  his 
way. 

The  man's  spirits  rose.  The  swift-flashing  eyes  bright- 
ened. His  body  felt  to  be  bursting  with  a  ravishing  joy  of 
life.  His  purpose  was  his  own.  The  joy  was  his  alone. 


318       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

He  had  found  excuse  for  satisfying  his  own  greedy  lust, 
a  lust  for  battle  which  no  overwhelming  odds  could  dimin- 
ish. He  was  a  savage.  He  knew  it;  he  gloried  in  it. 
Peace  to  him  was  a  wearisome  burden  of  which  at  all  times 
he  was  ready  to  rid  himself.  So  he  was  born.  So  he  had 
always  lived.  So,  he  knew,  he  would  die. 

The  trail  rose  with  the  upland.  It  rose  with  that  grada- 
tion which  so  wears  down  the  ardor  of  almost  any  horse. 
But  the  creatures  Wild  Bill  was  driving  were  made  of  un- 
usual mettle.  Their  courage  was  the  courage  of  the  man 
behind  them.  And  only  when  his  courage  failed  him  would 
their  spirit  falter.  They  swept  up  the  long  stretch  as 
though  the  effort  were  a  pastime.  With  ears  pricked  for- 
ward, nostrils  gushing,  their  veins  standing  out  like  whip- 
cord through  their  satin  coats,  they  moved  as  though  every 
stride  were  an  expression  of  the  joy  of  living.  And  the 
man's  steel  muscles  were  held  at  tension  to  keep  their  gait 
within  the  bounds  of  reason. 

As  they  neared  the  hill-top  he  turned  and  glanced  back 
over  his  shoulder.  There  lay  the  camp  nestling  on  the  far 
side  of  the  creek.  There  stood  Minky's  store,  lording  it 
over  its  lesser  fellows  with  the  arrogance  of  successful 
commerce.  He  could  see  a  small  patch  of  figures  stand- 
ing about  its  veranda,  and  he  knew  that  many  eyes  were 
watching  for  a  final  sight  of  him  at  the  moment  when  he 
should  vanish  over  the  hill. 

They  were  friendly  eyes,  too,  he  knew.  They  were  the 
eyes  of  men  who  wished  him  well.  But  he  doubted  if  those 
good  wishes  were  for  his  own  sake.  He  knew  he  was  not  a 
man  whom  men  loved.  And  he  smiled  grimly  as  he  glanced 
down  at  the  chest  of  gold  in  the  body  of  the  cart. 

In  a  moment  his  eyes  were  looking  out  ahead  again,  and 
all  thought  of  those  he  was  leaving  behind  left  his  mind. 

The  hill-top  passed,  the  horses  swung  down  into  a  deep, 
long  valley.  It  was  in  this  valley,  some  six  or  seven  miles 


ON  THE  SPAWN  CITY  TRAIL  319 

farther  on,  he  had  encountered  Scipio  in  Minky's  buck- 
board.  He  thought  of  that  meeting  now,  and  remembered 
many  things ;  and  as  recollection  stirred  his  teeth  shut  tight 
till  his  jaw  muscles  stood  out  like  walnuts  through  his  lean 
cheeks.  He  had  promised  Scipio  that  day.  Well,  his  mind 
was  easier  than  his  feelings.  He  was  confident.  But  he 
was  stirred  to  a  nervous  desire  to  be  doing. 

Nothing  escaped  his  watchful  eyes.  Every  tree,  every 
bush,  every  rise  and  hollow  passed  under  his  closest  scru- 
tiny. But  this  was  simply  his  way,  a  way  that  had  long 
since  been  forced  into  a  habit.  He  did  not  anticipate  any 
developments  yet.  The  battle-cry  was  yet  to  be  sounded. 
He  knew  the  men  he  was  likely  to  deal  with  better  than  any 
other  class.  He  knew  their  ways,  their  subtleties.  Who 
should  know  them  better?  Had  not  years  of  his  life  been 
spent  —  ? 

He  laughed  aloud,  but  his  laughter  rang  without  mirth. 
And  his  horses,  taking  the  sound  to  be  a  command,  broke 
suddenly  into  a  gallop.  It  was  the  sympathy  between  man 
and  beast  asserting  itself.  They,  too,  possessed  that  nervous 
desire  to  be  doing.  Something  of  the  significance  of  the 
journey  was  theirs,  and  their  nerves  were  braced  with  the 
temper  of  fine  steel. 

He  steadied  them  down  with  the  patience  of  a  devoted 
father  for  a  pack  of  boisterous  children.  No  harsh  words 
disturbed  their  sensitive  ears.  The  certainty  of  their  obedi- 
ence made  it  unnecessary  to  exert  any  display  of  violence. 
They  promptly  fell  again  into  their  racing  trot,  and  the  cart 
once  more  ran  smoothly  over  the  hard  beaten  trail. 

The  higher  reaches  of  the  creek  cut  into  the  valley  from 
the  right,  and  the  trail  deviated  to  a  rise  of  sandy  ground. 
He  had  reached  the  point  of  his  meeting  with  Scipio.  Nor 
did  he  slacken  his  pace  over  the  dust-laden  patch.  It  was 
passed  in  a  choking  cloud,  and  in  a  moment  the  rise  was 
topped  and  a  wild,  broken  country  spread  out  before  him. 


320       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

Five  miles  farther  on  he  halted  beside  a  small  mountain 
stream  and  breathed  his  horses. 

But  his  halt  was  of  the  briefest.  He  simply  let  the  horses 
stand  in  their  harness.  It  was  not  time  to  feed,  but  he 
removed  their  bits  and  let  them  nip  up  the  bunches  of  sweet 
grass  about  their  feet.  And  as  he  did  so  he  paused  a  mo- 
ment at  the  head  of  each  animal,  muttering  words  of  en- 
couragement, and  administering  caresses  with  a  hand  which 
bore  in  its  touch  an  affection  that  no  words  of  his  could 
have  conveyed. 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  cart  and  made  a  few  simple 
dispositions.  One  was  to  securely  lash  the  gold-chest  in  its 
place ;  but  its  place  he  changed  to  the  front  of  the  cart. 
Another  was  to  leave  the  lid  of  the  foot-box,  built  against 
the  dashboard,  wide  open,  and  to  so  secure  it  that  it  could 
not  close  again.  Another  was  to  adjust  the  lowered  hood 
of  the  cart  in  a  certain  way  that  it  was  raised  head-high  as 
he  sat  in  his  driving-seat. 

Then,  with  a  grim  satisfaction  in  his  small  eyes  as  he 
glanced  over  his  simple  preparations,  he  jumped  to  the 
ground  and  replaced  the  bits  in  his  horses'  mouths.  In  two 
minutes  he  was  again  rushing  over  the  trail,  but  this  time 
through  a  world  of  crag  and  forest  as  primitive  and  rugged 
as  was  his  own  savage  soul. 

So  the  journey  went  on,  over  mountainous  hills,  and  deep 
down  into  valleys  as  dark  as  only  mountain  forests  of 
spruce  and  pine  could  make  them.  Over  a  broken  road 
that  set  the  light  cart  perilously  bumping,  speeding  along  the 
edges  of  precipices,  with  little  more  than  inches  to  spare,  at 
a  pace  that  might  well  set  the  nerves  jangling  with  every 
jolt.  Later  a  halt  for  feed  and  water,  and  on  again,  the 
willing  horses  taking  their  rest  only  as  the  difficulties  of  the 
trail  reduced  their  pace  to  a  laborious  walk. 

The  man  sat  alert  through  it  all.  There  was  no  question 
in  his  mind.  He  knew  what  lay  ahead  of  him  somewhere  in 


ON  THE  SPAWN  CITY  TRAIL  321 

those  vast  depths.  He  knew  that  what  he  looked  for  was 
coming  just  as  surely  as  the  Day  of  Doom.  He  did  not  ask 
when  or  where.  That  was  not  his  way.  It  might  come 
when  it  chose,  for  his  part.  He  was  ready  and  even  yearn- 
ing for  the  moment  of  its  coming. 

So  his  eyes  never  rested  for  a  moment.  Scarce  a  glance 
or  thought  did  he  give  to  his  horses.  Theirs  it  was  to  keep 
to  the  trail.  Theirs  it  was  to  keep  their  pace.  His  was  all 
other  responsibility. 

The  sun  was  leaning  towards  the  western  crags,  where,  in 
the  distance,  they  raised  their  snow-crowned  heads  towards 
the  heavens.  The  ruddy  daylight  was  deepening  to  that 
warmth  of  color  which  belongs  to  day's  old  age.  The  forest 
shadows  appeared  to  deepen,  those  dark  forests  so  far  below 
him  in  the  valleys.  Here,  where  he  was  racing  along  at  a 
high  level,  all  was  bright,  the  air  was  joyous.  Below  him 
lay  the  brooding  stillness  where  lurked  a  hundred  unknown 
dangers.  There  were  only  about  fifteen  more  miles  of  this 
broken  solitude,  and  beyond  that  stretched  a  world  of  wav- 
ing, gracious  grassland  right  on  to  the  prairie  city  whither 
he  was  bound. 

He  stirred;  his  roving  eyes  abruptly  concentrated.  One 
distant  spot  on  the  rugged  landscape  held  him.  He  craned 
forward.  The  movement  caused  him  to  ease  his  hand  upon 
the  reins.  Instantly  the  horses  sprang  into  a  gallop.  So 
intent  was  he  that  for  the  moment  the  change  passed  un- 
noticed. He  seemed  only  to  have  eyes  and  thought  for  that 
distant  hill-top.  Then  of  a  sudden  he  realized  the  danger- 
ous breakneck  speed,  and  turned  his  attention  upon  his 
team. 

The  animals  once  more  reduced  to  a  sober  pace,  he  turned 
again  to  the  spot  which  held  his  interest ;  and  his  eyes  grew 
bright  with  a  smile  that  had  nothing  pleasant  in  it.  He  was 
grinning  with  a  savage  joy  more  fierce,  more  threatening, 
than  the  cruellest  frown.  The  next  time  he  bestirred  him- 


322       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

self  it  was  to  swing  his  gun-holsters  more  handy  to  the 
front  of  his  body. 

Later  on  his  interest  seemed  to  lessen.  No  longer  was 
there  that  watchfulness  in  his  eyes.  Perhaps  it  was  he 
deemed  there  was  no  longer  the  necessity  for  it.  Perhaps 
what  he  had  seen  had  satisfied  his  restless  searching.  Any- 
way, he  now  sat  contemplating  the  shining  backs  of  his 
horses  as  they  sped  down  the  hill,  and  his  eyes  were  friendly 
as  he  watched  the  rolls  of  muscle  writhing  under  their  satin 
coats. 

But  when  next  he  looked  up  his  moment  of  gentleness  had 
passed.  His  easier  moods  were  never  of  long  duration. 
One  swift  glance  again  at  the  distant  hill,  and  then  he 
turned  from  it  and  sat  gazing  at  the  dank,  oozy  prospect  of 
the  low-lying  flat  he  was  just  entering  with  no  sort  of 
friendliness.  The  sharp  hoofs  of  his  team  were  flinging 
mud  in  every  direction,  and  the  rattle  of  the  wheels  had 
deadened  to  a  thick  sucking  as  they  sank  into  the  black 
mud.  It  was  a  heavy  pull,  but  the  speed  was  not  checked. 
It  only  needed  an  extra  effort,  and  this  the  willing  team 
readily  applied.  He  knew  the  spot  well ;  and  he  knew  that 
beyond  lay  the  hill,  the  crest  of  which  had  so  held  his  at- 
tention a  few  minutes  before. 

His  thoughts  traveled  no  farther  than  that  hill.  For  the 
time  at  least  there  was  nothing  beyond.  Later  it  would  be 
for  him  to  consider  that.  Just  ahead  of  him  lay  the  chances 
and  changes  which  went  to  make  up  such  a  life  as  his. 
This  he  knew.  And  somehow  the  thought  stimulated  his 
pulses  to  a  fuller  appreciation  of  things. 

In  a  few  moments  he  was  nearing  the  far  boundary  of  the 
flat,  and  the  ascent  of  the  hill  was  about  to  commence.  He 
smiled.  Yes,  it  was  well  calculated.  The  hill  would  have 
to  be  taken  at  a  walk.  It  was  by  far  the  steepest  of  the 
journey.  He  remembered,  too,  that  the  crest  of  it  was 
reached  by  a  final  climb  that  became  almost  precipitous. 


ON  THE  SPAWN  CITY  TRAIL  323 

He  remembered,  too,  that  the  black  woods  that  crowded  its 
sides  at  the  crest  gave  place  to  the  skeleton  trunks  left  by 
some  long- forgotten  forest  fire.  Yes,  it  was  the  one  spot  on 
the  whole  journey  best  calculated  for  what  was  to  come. 

The  team  no  longer  labored  in  the  ooze.  The  ascent  was 
begun.  With  heads  held  high,  with  ears  pricked  and  nostrils 
distended  they  faced  the  big  effort  unflinchingly. 

And  the  driver's  mind  was  calculating  many  things.  It 
was  moving  with  the  swiftness  of  an  able  general's  in  the 
midst  of  a  big  action.  He  glanced  at  the  sky.  Already  the 
sun  was  hidden  behind  the  western  hills.  Already  the  shad- 
ows were  lengthening  and  the  gray  of  evening  was  fall- 
ing. The  profound  woods,  dense  and  ghostly,  had  closed  in. 
The  trail  was  so  narrow  that  the  dreary,  weeping  foliage 
often  swept  the  sides  of  the  cart.  But  these  things  did  not 
occur  to  him.  His  mind  was  ahead,  amongst  those  aged 
skeletons  left  by  the  raging  fire-fiend. 

Progress  was  slow.  It  was  almost  too  slow  for  the  man's 
eager  nerves.  He  wanted  to  reach  his  goal.  His  lean  body 
thrilled  with  a  profound  joy.  He  lusted  for  the  battle 
which  he  knew  to  lie  ahead  of  him.  But,  even  so,  he  gave 
no  outward  sign.  His  face  was  set  and  harsh.  His  small 
eyes  bored  through  the  gloom,  thrusting  to  penetrate  beyond 
every  bend  in  the  winding  road.  Nothing  escaped  them. 
Each  small  fur  that  fled  in  terror  at  his  approach  was  care- 
fully noted,  for  they  told  him  things  he  wanted  to  know. 

Now  the  final  steep  was  reached.  It  was  truly  precipi- 
tous. The  sharp  hoofs  of  the  team  clawed  their  way  up. 
Such  was  the  struggle  that  even  the  man  found  himself 
leaning  forward,  instinctively  desiring  to  help  the  laboring 
animals.  The  bends  in  the  trail  were  sudden  and  at  brief 
intervals.  It  was  as  though  those  responsible  for  the  origi- 
nal clearing  of  the  road  had  realized  the  impossibility  of  a 
direct  ascent,  and  had  chosen  the  zigzag  path  as  the  only 
means  of  surmounting  the  hill. 


324       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

The  moments  passed.  Bend  followed  bend.  The  man  in 
the  cart  found  himself  mechanically  counting  them.  Two 
more.  One  more.  The  summit  was  almost  reached.  And 
beyond?  He  sighed.  Maybe  it  was  the  sigh  of  a  man 
whose  nerves  are  relieved  from  their  tension,  knowing  that 
beyond  this  last  bend  lay  his  goal.  Maybe  it  was  inspired 
by  sympathy  for  his  struggling  horses.  Anyway,  his 
whole  manner  underwent  a  change.  The  watchfulness 
seemed  to  have  gone  from  his  eyes,  his  muscles  to  have  re- 
laxed. He  leant  back  in  his  seat  like  a  man  full  of  weari- 
ness, and  securely  fastened  his  reins  to  an  iron  rail  on 
the  side  of  the  cart. 

He  was  at  the  bend  now.  The  leaders  were  abreast  of  it. 
They  were  past  it.  He  — 

There  was  a  sharp  rattle  of  firearms,  and  half-a-dozen 
bullets  swept  pinging  their  way  over  his  head.  A  hoarse 
voice  shouted  a  command  to  halt.  His  horses  plunged  for- 
ward. But,  quick  as  lightning,  his  hands  flew  to  the  reins, 
and  he  drew  them  up  to  a  standstill  in  the  open. 

"  Hands  up ! "  shouted  the  same  voice ;  and  a  horseman 
appeared  on  each  side  of  the  team. 

Then  came  an  exhibition  of  the  gambler  as  he  was,  as  in 
the  old  days  he  had  always  been  known.  It  was  all  done  in 
the  fraction  of  a  second.  Simultaneously  his  two  guns 
leapt  from  his  holsters  and  two  shots  rang  out.  There  was 
an  ominous  echo  from  the  woods.  One  horseman  reeled  in 
his  saddle,  and  the  horse  of  the  other  man  stumbled  and 
finally  fell. 

The  next  moment  the  man  in  the  cart  was  crouching 
down,  all  but  the  crown  of  his  head  and  his  gleaming  eyes 
well  sheltered  by  the  loose-hanging  canvas  hood. 

"  I'm  'most  allus  ready  to  put  my  hands  up !  "  he  snarled. 
"Come  on!" 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   BATTLE 

A  SHOUT  of  fury.  A  wild  chorus  of  meaningless  blas- 
phemy. A  thundering  of  hoofs.  A  shriek  of  pain  —  an 
appalling  death-cry.  The  fight  has  begun  —  such  a  fight,  in 
its  wanton  savagery,  as  might  shame  even  the  forest  beasts. 
In  a  moment  the  human  lusting  for  the  blood  of  its  fellows 
is  let  loose,  than  which  there  is  no  more  terrible  madness  on 
earth. 

Yet  there  was  a  difference.  There  was  a  difference  of 
motive  widely  separating  the  combatants ;  and  it  was  a  dif- 
ference that  left  the  balance  of  offense  doubtful. 

To  analyze  the  mental  attitude  of  these  people  adequately 
would  be  well-nigh  impossible.  Their  outlook  possessed 
distortions  which  changed  with  chameleon-like  rapidity. 
On  the  one  hand  was  a  band  of  lawless  ruffians,  steeped  to 
their  very  souls  in  every  sort  of  crime,  in  whose  minds  all 
law  was  anathema,  in  whose  understanding  all  possession 
was  a  deliberate  challenge,  in  whose  hearts  was  no  pity, 
no  mercy,  no  feeling  which  belongs  to  the  gentler  side  of 
human  life ;  to  whose  comprehension  death  has  no  meaning 
until  its  relentless  grip  is  fixed,  and  they  feel  the  last  spark 
of  life  crushing  out  of  their  own  bodies.  Then  —  But  the 
analysis  becomes  hopelessly  chaotic. 

On  the  other  hand  motive  is  perhaps  even  more  difficult 
still,  though  a  shade  less  hopeless.  The  gambler  was  a  man 
of  strong  thought,  of  strong  forces.  Nor  was  he  devoid  of 
the  gentler  feelings  of  life.  Yet  here  lies  the  difficulty  of 
associating  the  various  sides  of  his  character  with  his  ac- 


326       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

tions.  He  had  set  out  for  this  encounter.  He  had  yearned 
for  it,  as  a  child  might  yearn  for  a  plaything.  The  con- 
templation of  it  gave  him  ecstasy.  With  an  inhuman  joy  he 
desired  the  lives  of  these  men.  Not  one,  but  all ;  and  one 
even  more  than  all.  Then,  too,  his  purpose  was  in  face  of 
overwhelming  odds  —  in  face  of  almost  a  certainty  of  death 
for  himself.  Such  actions  have  been  performed  before  in 
noble  cases,  but  here  —  ? 

Was  it  simply  his  purpose  to  yield  himself  a  martyr  to  the 
public  welfare?  Was  it  that  he  truly  desired  to  avenge  a 
wronged  man?  Was  he  setting  himself  up  as  the  avenger 
of  Sid  Morton's  cruel  death,  a  man  in  whom  he  had  no 
interest  whatever  ?  No.  It  would  be  absurd  to  believe  that 
these  things  were  the  promptings  responsible  for  his  present 
actions.  Some  hideous  psychological  twist  was  driving  him. 
Some  passion  swayed  him  over  which  he  had  no  control 
whatever.  Some  degeneracy  was  upsetting  his  mental  bal- 
ance, and  forcing  him  against  his  better  instincts.  But, 
even  so,  his  whole  attitude  was  that  of  a  man  of  clear,  alert 
mind,  of  iron  purpose,  of  a  courage  invincible. 

Calm  and  cold  Wild  Bill  crouched  while,  in  the  first  rush 
of  battle,  the  shots  hailed  about  him.  He  reserved  his  fire, 
too,  waiting  for  the  effective  moment  with  the  patience  of 
a  skillful  general.  His  every  shot  must  tell,  and  tell  desper- 
ately. 

Three  times  he  was  hit  in  as  many  seconds,  but  beyond 
hugging  his  flimsy  shelter  more  closely  he  gave  no  sign. 
His  purpose  rose  above  all  physical  hurt  or  sense  of  pain. 
He  was  watching  the  movements  of  one  man  —  of  one  man 
only.  His  gleaming  eyes  pursued  the  figure  of  the  outlaw 
leader  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else.  James  was  his  quarry. 
The  rest  —  well,  the  rest  were  merely  incidental. 

And,  emboldened  by  his  intended  victim's  silence,  James 
suddenly  changed  his  tactics.  A  long-ranged  battle  was  lit- 
tle enough  to  his  savage  taste.  He  ceased  the  ineffective 


THE  BATTLE  327 

fire  of  his  men  and  brought  them  together.  Then  in  a  mo- 
ment, with  the  reckless  abandon  of  his  class,  he  headed 
them  and  charged.  They  came,  as  before,  with  a  brazen 
shout,  and  the  air  was  hideous  with  a  fresh  outburst  of  blas- 
phemy, while  a  rush  of  lead  searched  the  fragile  cart  in 
every  direction. 

But  the  din  of  voices,  the  crash  of  woodwork  as  the 
panels  of  the  cart  were  riddled  by  the  wildly  flung  shots, 
was  powerless  to  draw  the  defender.  His  guns  were 
ready.  He  was  ready  for  the  purpose  in  his  mind.  That 
was  all.  His  fierce  eyes  lit  with  a  murderous  intent  as  he 
calculated  with  certainty  and  exactness. 

On  they  came.  They  drove  their  maddened  horses  with 
savage  spurs  right  up  to  the  cart.  It  was  the  moment  the 
gambler  awaited.  He  leapt,  and  in  a  flash  his  tall  figure 
was  confronting  the  leader  of  the  attack.  And  as  he  rose 
his  arms  were  outstretched  and  his  great  guns  belched  their 
murderous  fire.  Two  men  rolled  from  their  saddles  with  a 
death-scream  that  died  down  to  a  hideous  gurgle,  as  the  ra- 
cing hoofs  trod  the  last  atom  of  life  out  of  their  bodies.  His 
guns  belched  a  second  time,  and  James'  throat  was  plowed 
open,  and  the  rich  red  blood  spurted  in  a  ghastly  tide.  An- 
other shot  and  another  man  fell  forward,  clutching  his 
horse's  mane  while  he  was  borne  from  the  battle-field  to  the 
dim  recesses  of  the  forest  by  his  uncontrolled  and  affrighted 
beast. 

But  the  gambler  paid  a  high  price  for  these  successes  — 
far  higher  than  he  could  really  afford.  Four  times  more  he 
was  badly  hit.  Four  times  the  hot  slither  of  burning  lead 
plowed  its  way  amidst  the  life-channels  of  his  body. 
And  his  retreat  to  cover  was  something  almost  in  the  nature 
of  collapse. 

But  the  spirit  of  the  man  admitted  of  no  weakening.  It 
rose  dominant  over  all  physical  sensation.  He  thrust  aside 
the  cognizance  of  his  hurts,  and  abandoned  himself  solely  to 


328       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

his  purpose.  James  was  still  in  the  saddle,  and  the  sight  of 
his  hated  personality  consumed  him  with  rage  and  disgust  at 
the  failure  of  his  first  attempt. 

"  Still  around.  Still  around,"  he  muttered.  And  in  a 
moment  the  battle  was  surging  once  more. 

No  longer  was  the  leader  of  the  attack  moved  by  the  irre- 
sponsible bravado  of  his  first  attack.  He  was  a  raging 
savage,  goaded  by  the  desperate  wounds  he  had  received,  and 
the  knowledge  that  he  and  all  his  force  were  being  held  at 
bay  by  one  man.  So  he  charged  again,  a  headlong  rush, 
howling  as  he  came  at  the  head  of  his  four  remaining  sup- 
porters. 

They  came  like  an  avalanche,  their  voices  making  hideous 
the  rapidly  falling  night,  while  the  wounded  defender 
waited,  waited,  all  his  purpose  concentrated,  husbanding  his 
ebbing  strength  as  a  starving  man  might  husband  the  last 
crumbs  of  food.  He  knew  that  not  only  his  strength,  but 
his  very  life  was  slowly  ebbing  in  the  red  tide  that  was  fast 
saturating  every  shred  of  his  clothing. 

Again  they  reached  the  cart.  Again  the  maddened  horses 
were  driven  head  on  to  the  dreaded  fortress.  And  in- 
stantly their  quarry  rose  to  his  full  height,  a  grim  specter 
thrilling  with  a  murderous  purpose,  his  arms  outstretched, 
his  guns  held  low,  that  there  should  be  no  mistake  this  time. 

The  crash  of  battle  was  appalling.  The  scene  was  almost 
lost  in  the  smoke  cloud  which  hung  over  it.  There  was  fire 
and  cross-fire.  There  were  exultant  shouts  and  cries  of 
pain.  And  through  it  all  the  scuttling  of  rushing  hoofs  and 
champing  bits.  A  moment  and  the  defender  dropped.  But 
instantly  he  rose  again,  gripping  in  his  nervous  hands  the 
butts  of  a  pair  of  fresh  guns  snatched  from  his  foot-box. 
Nor  did  he  stir  foot  again,  nor  relax  a  muscle,  till  every 
one  of  the  twelve  chambers  was  emptied. 

Then,  with  an  oath  that  carried  with  it  all  the  pent-up 
hatred  of  a  bitter  heart,  he  flung  both  weapons  in  the  direc- 


THE  BATTLE  329 

tion  whither  his  last  shot  had  gone,  and,  staggering  back, 
dropped  helplessly  into  the  driving-seat  behind  him. 

The  smoke  hung  heavily  and  drifted  slowly  away  upon 
the  still  air.  The  sound  of  rushing  hoofs  receded  and  died 
away  in  the  distance,  and  in  a  while  a  profound  quiet 
settled  upon  the  scene.  The  man  lolled  heavily  in  his  seat, 
and  his  eyes  closed.  His  face  was  a  ghastly  gray,  his  eyes 
were  sunken  and  his  blackened  lips  hung  agape.  His  arms 
hung  helplessly  at  his  side,  and  his  legs  were  stretched  out 
in  a  pitiable  attitude  of  uselessness. 

The  moments  passed  drearily.  For  a  long  time  there  was 
no  movement  of  any  sort  but  the  restless  fidgeting  of  the 
horses.  They  had  stood  through  all  the  turmoil  as  their 
master  had  long  since  trained  them  to  stand.  But  now  that 
it  was  over  their  eager  spirits  were  demanding  the  joy  of  the 
trail  again.  It  almost  seemed  as  though,  in  their  equine 
minds,  they  had  a  full  realization  of  the  meaning  of  that 
battle  in  the  wild,  as  though  sympathy  between  master  and 
beast  had  held  them  during  that  fierce  ten  minutes  still  and 
passive,  lest  through  any  act  of  theirs  they  should  cross  the 
will  of  the  one  being  whom  they  acknowledged  their  lord. 
And  now  that  it  was  over  and  the  crisis  passed,  it  seemed  as 
if  they  understood  that  victory  had  been  achieved,  and  their 
duty  once  more  lay  upon  the  trail  ahead  of  them. 

At  last  the  eyes  of  the  man  opened.  The  chafing  of  his 
horses  had  penetrated  to  his  numbing  brain.  Their  fierce 
depths  were  dull  and  lusterless  as  they  rolled  vaguely 
around.  Yet  there  was  intelligence  in  them,  although  it  was 
the  intelligence  of  a  weary,  fainting  mind.  They  closed 
again,  as  though  the  will  behind  them  lacked  in  its  support. 
And  then  followed  a  sigh,  a  deep,  long  sigh  of  exhaustion. 

There  was  another  pause,  and  presently  there  came  a 
bodily  movement.  The  man  stirred  uneasily,  in  the  manner 
of  one  gathering  his  weakening  forces  for  a  supreme  effort 
from  which  his  whole  body  shrank.  Again  his  eyes  opened, 


330       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

and  this  time  their  depths  were  full  of  purpose.  Suddenly 
his  legs  gathered  under  him  and  his  arms  drew  up,  and  in  a 
moment  he  staggered  to  his  feet,  his  hands  clutching  sup- 
port upon  the  back  of  the  seat. 

He  stared  about  him  doubtfully,  and  his  uncertainty  was 
pitiful  to  behold.  His  eyes  were  only  half  open,  as  though 
the  effort  of  sustaining  their  lids  was  too  great  for  his  fail- 
ing powers.  They  wandered  on  over  the  scene,  however, 
until  they  suddenly  fixed  themselves  upon  a  spot  where  two 
figures  were  stretched  upon  the  ground.  One  was  lying 
upon  its  side  with  its  knees  drawn  up  as  though  asleep ;  the 
other  was  stretched  upon  its  back,  its  arms  flung  out  and  its 
legs  lying  across  the  other's  body.  The  dead  eyes  were 
staring  up  at  the  darkened  sky,  glazed  and  motionless. 

He  stared  clown  upon  these  figures  for  some  time,  and  the 
sight  seemed  to  put  fresh  strength  into  him;  and  at  last, 
when  he  turned  away,  a  pitiful  attempt  at  triumph  shone  in 
his  dull  eyes,  and  a  ghostly  smile  flitted  about  the  corners 
of  his  sagging  lips. 

He  had  seen  all  he  wanted  to  see.  His  work  was  done. 
James  was  dead.  He  knew  death  when  he  saw  it,  and  he 
had  seen  it  shining  in  those  staring  eyes.  James  had  passed 
over  the  one-way  trail,  and  his  had  been  the  hand  that  had 
sped  him  upon  his  journey. 

Now  he  took  a  deep  breath  and  stood  swaying.  Then  he 
glanced  with  measuring  eye  at  the  foot-box  at  his  feet.  He 
changed  his  support,  and,  bending  slowly,  dragged  a  rawhide 
rope  from  inside  it.  The  next  moment  he  fell  back  upon 
the  seat.  But  his  work  had  only  begun.  For  some  time  he 
fumbled  with  the  rope,  passing  it  about  his  body  and  the 
iron  stanchions  of  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  after  awhile  had 
succeeded  in  knotting  it  securely.  Then,  after  a  moment 
of  hard  breathing,  he  reached  out  and  untied  the  reins  from 
the  rail  of  the  cart  and  gathered  them  into  his  hands.  And 
as  he  did  so  his  lips  moved  and  his  voice  croaked  brokenly. 


THE  BATTLE  331 

"  Come  on,  Gyp,"  he  mumbled  hoarsely.  "  Come,  gal. 
Hey  —  you,  Pete.  You,  too  —  Maisie.  Come  on.  Get  on." 

It  was  the  word  his  faithful  friends  had  awaited. 

Chilled  and  eager,  they  leapt  at  their  bits,  and  the  traces 
snapped  taut.  They  were  off;  and  in  their  eager  rush  the 
reins  were  almost  torn  from  the  driver's  numbing  fingers. 
Again  he  spoke,  and  in  his  halting  words  was  a  world  of  af- 
fection and  encouragement. 

"  Easy,  children,"  he  said.  "  Easy,  boys  an'  gals.  Ther' 
sure  ain't  no  hurry  now.  They're  dead  —  all  —  dead. 
Dead  as  —  mutton." 

He  clawed  full  possession  of  the  reins  again.  And  in  a 
moment  the  cart  was  speeding  down  the  long  gradient  that 
was  to  bear  them  on  the  prairie  world  beyond. 

The  man  was  lolling  forward,  straining  on  the  rope  that 
held  his  helpless  body  to  the  seat,  and  his  eyes  closed 
wearily.  The  speed  of  the  team,  the  direction,  these  things 
meant  nothing  to  him  now.  The  trail  was  well  marked 
right  in  to  Spawn  City.  There  were  no  turnings.  That 
was  all  that  mattered.  These  children  of  his  would  faith- 
fully keep  on  their  way  to  the  end.  He  knew  these  things 
without  thinking,  and  the  knowledge  left  him  indifferent. 
His  only  concern  now  was  the  gold.  It  was  in  the  cart,  and 
it  must  reach  Spawn  City.  To  that  his  honor  was  pledged. 

The  reins  slipped  through  his  fingers.  He  stirred  un- 
easily. Then  his  eyes  opened  again.  .For  a  moment  his 
sagging  lips  closed.  He  was  summoning  all  his  failing 
strength.  He  clutched  the  reins  in  one  hand,  and  with  the 
other  knotted  them  about  his  wrist.  Then,  with  a  gasp,  his 
left  hand  dropped  from  his  task,  while  his  right  arm  was 
held  on  stretched  by  the  strain  of  the  pulling  horses  upon 
the  reins. 

There  was  now  no  longer  any  demand  for  further  effort, 
and  the  drooping  body  lolled  over  against  the  side  of  the 
cart  as  though  the  man  were  seeking  his  rest.  His  head 


332       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

hung  away  at  a  helpless  angle,  and  his  legs  straggled.  And 
thus  the  speeding  team  raced  clear  of  the  mountain  world 
and  plunged  through  the  darkness  to  the  prairie  beyond. 

The  moon  rose  in  all  its  cold  splendor.  The  stars  dimmed 
before  its  frigid  smile.  The  black  vault  of  the  heavens  lit 
with  a  silvery  sheen,  embracing  the  prairie  world  beneath  its 
bejeweled  pall. 

The  sea  of  grass  lay  shadowed  in  the  moonlit  dusk.  But, 
in  sharp  relief,  a  white  ribbon-like  trail  split  it  from  end  to 
end,  like  some  forlorn  creature  with  white  outspread  arms 
yearning  in  desolation  —  yearning  for  the  bustle  and  rush  of 
busy  life  which  it  is  denied,  yearning  to  be  relieved  from  so 
desperate  a  solitude. 

The  vastness  and  silence  dwarfs  even  thought.  The 
things  which  are  great,  which  have  significance,  which  have 
meaning  to  the  human  mind  are  lost  in  such  a  world.  Life 
itself  becomes  infinitesimal. 

There  is  something  moving  in  a  tiny  ebullition  of  dust 
along  the  white  trail.  It  looks  so  small.  It  moves  so 
slowly,  crawling,  seemingly,  at  a  snail's  pace.  It  is  almost 
microscopical  in  the  vastness. 

Yet  it  is  only  these  things  by  comparison.  It  is  neither 
small,  nor  is  it  traveling  at  a  snail's  pace.  It  is  a  cart  drawn 
by  six  horses,  racing  as  though  pursued  by  all  the  demons  of 
the  nether  world. 

And  in  the  driving-seat  is  a  curious,  stiffly  swaying  figure. 
It  is  strangely  inanimate.  Yet  it  suggests  something  that  no 
ordinary  human  figure  could  suggest.  It  is  in  its  huddled 
attitude,  its  ghastly  face,  its  staring,  unseeing  eyes,  which 
gaze  out  in  every  direction,  as  the  jolting  of  the  cart  turns 
and  twists  the  body  from  side  to  side.  There  is  something 
colossal,  something  strangely  stirring  in  the  suggestion  of 
purpose  in  the  figure.  There  is  something  to  inspire  won- 
der in  the  most  sluggish  mind.  It  tells  a  story  of  some  sort 


THE  BATTLE  333 

of  heroism.  It  tells  a  story  of  a  master  mind  triumphing 
over  bodily  weakness  and  suffering.  It  tells  a  story  of 
superlative  defiance  —  the  defiance  of  death. 

The  early  risers  of  Spawn  City  were  gathered  in  a  stupe- 
fied crowd  outside  the  principal  hotel  in  the  place.  Six 
jaded  horses,  drawing  a  light  spring-cart,  had  just  pulled  up. 
The  poor  creatures  were  utterly  spent,  and  stood  with 
drooping  heads  and  distended  nostrils,  gasping  and  steam- 
ing, their  weary  legs  tottering  beneath  them.  Their  great 
eyes  were  yearning  and  sunken,  and  their  s^nall  ears  lay 
back,  indifferent  to  every  sound  or  movement  about  them. 
Their  last  buoyancy  has  been  expended.  They  have  run 
their  mad  race  till  their  hearts  are  nigh  bursting. 

But  the  horses  were  of  the  least  interest  to  the  onlookers. 
It  was  the  dusty  spring-cart  that  interested  their  curious 
minds  —  the  cart,  and  the  still  and  silent  driver,  who  made 
no  attempt  to  leave  his  seat.  They  stood  gaping,  not  daring 
to  disturb  the  ghastly  figure,  not  daring  even  to  approach  it 
too  closely.  Their  minds  were  thrilling  with  a  morbid 
horror  which  held  them  silent. 

But  at  last  there  came  a  diversion.  A  burly,  rough-clad 
man  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  his  keen  eyes 
flashed  a  quick  look  over  the  whole  outfit.  He  was  the 
sheriff,  and  had  been  hurriedly  summoned. 

"Wild  Bill!"  he  muttered.  "Them's  sure  his  plugs, 
too,"  he  added,  as  though  seeking  corroboration. 

There  was  certainly  doubt  in  his  tone,  and  surprise,  too ; 
and  he  came  to  the  side  of  the  cart  and  gazed  up  into  the 
awful  face  drooping  forward  over  the  outstretched  arm  to 
further  convince  himself.  What  he  beheld  caused  him  to 
click  his  tongue  against  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  It  was  his 
only  means  of  giving  expression  to  the  wave  of  horror  that 
swept  over  him. 

With  a  leap  he  sprang  into  the  seat,  and  began  releasing 


334       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

the  knotted  reins  from  the  stiffened  arm.  So  tight  had  the 
knots  been  drawn  that  it  took  some  moments.  Then  he 
turned,  and  with  difficulty  removed  the  rawhide  from  about 
the  middle  of  the  huddled  figure.  Then  he  hailed  some  of 
the  onlookers. 

"  Ho,  you,  Joe !  You,  too,  Lalor,  an'  Ned !  Stand  by, 
lads,  an'  bear  a  hand,"  he  cried  authoritatively.  "  Guess 
I'll  pass  it  out." 

Then  he  stood  up,  staring  down  at  the  stiffened  body ;  and 
wonder  looked  out  of  his  puzzled  eyes. 

"  Gee !  if  it  ain't  Wild  Bill  the  gambler,  an'—  an'  he  must 
ha'  bin  dead  nigh  six  hours." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
A  MAN'S  LOVE 

IT  was  with  strangely  mixed  feelings  that  Scipio  drove 
Minky's  old  mule  down  the  shelving  trail  leading  into  the 
secret  valley  where  stood  James'  ranch-house.  The  recol- 
lection of  his  first  visit  to  the  place  was  a  sort  of  nightmare 
which  clung  desperately  in  the  back  cells  of  memory.  The 
dreadful  incidents  leading  up  to  it  and  surrounding  it  could 
never  be  forgotten.  Every  detail  of  his  headlong  journey  in 
quest  of  the  man  who  had  wronged  him,  every  detail  of  his 
terrible  discomfiture,  would  cling  in  his  memory  so  long 
as  he  had  life. 

But,  in  spite  of  memory,  in  spite  of  his  wrongs,  his  heart- 
burnings, the  desolation  of  the  past  weeks,  his  heart  rose 
buoyantly  as  he  came  within  sight  of  the  place  in  which  he 
still  persisted  in  telling  himself  that  his  Jessie  was  held  a 
prisoner  against  her  will.  That  was  his  nature.  No 
optimism  was  too  big  for  him.  No  trouble  was  so  great 
that  hope  could  altogether  be  crushed  out  of  his  heart. 

He  looked  out  over  the  splendid  valley  extending  for 
miles  on  either  hand  of  him,  and  somehow  he  was  glad. 
Somehow  the  glorious  sunlight,  so  softened  by  the  shadowed 
forest  which  covered  the  hillsides,  so  gentle  beneath  the 
crowding  hills  which  troughed  in  the  bed  of  waving  grass, 
sent  his  simple  spirit  soaring  to  heights  of  anticipatory  de- 
light which,  a  few  days  back,  had  seemed  beyond  his  reach. 

At  that  moment,  in  spite  of  all  that  had  gone  before,  the 
place  was  very,,  very  beautiful  to  him,  life  was  wonderful, 
his  very  existence  was  a  joy.  For  was  not  Jessie  waiting 


336       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

for  him  beyond,  in  that  ranch-house?  Was  not  she  wait- 
ing for  his  coming,  that  she  might  return  with  him  to  their 
home  ?  Was  she  not  presently  to  be  seated  beside  him  upon 
the  rickety  old  seat  of  Minky's  buckboard?  And  his  final 
thought  caused  him  to  glance  regretfully  down  at  the  frayed 
cushion,  wishing  cordially  that  he  could  have  afforded  her 
greater  comfort. 

Ah,  well,  perhaps  she  would  not  mind  just  for  this  once. 
And,  after  all,  she  would  be  with  him,  which  was  the  great 
thing.  WTild  Bill  had  promised  him  that ;  and  he  had  every 
confidence  in  Wild  Bill. 

Then  he  suddenly  thought  of  something  he  might  have 
done.  Surely  he  might  have  brought  Vada  with  him. 
What  a  pity  he  didn't  think  of  it  before  he  started  out.  It 
was  foolish  of  him,  very  foolish.  But  he  had  been  so  full 
of  Jessie.  The  thought  of  winning  her  back  had  quite  put 
everything  else  out  of  his  head.  Yes,  it  was  a  pity.  The 
presence  of  Vada  would  certainly  have  added  to  her  happi- 
ness, she  was  so  fond  of  her  children. 

Then  he  remembered  his  instructions.  Bill  had  said  he 
must  go  alone.  He  must  go  alone  —  and  be  prepared  to 
fight  for  her.  Bill  was  a  wonderful  man.  He  seemed  to 
be  able  to  do  anything  he  chose.  And  somehow  he  felt 
sorry  he  had  bluffed  him  into  buying  half  his  claim.  He 
could  feel  the  roll  of  bills,  the  result  of  that  transaction,  in 
his  hip  pocket,  and  the  pressure  of  them  impressed  itself  un- 
pleasantly upon  his  conscience.  He  felt  sure  he  had  no  right 
to  them.  He  must  really  give  them  back  to  the  gambler  later. 
He  felt  that  his  attitude  was  a  swindle  on  a  good  man. 
Bill  was  certainly  a  good  man,  a  brave  man,  but  he  was  no 
business  man.  He,  Scipio,  had  the  advantage  of  him  there. 

The  buckboard  rumbled  down  to  the  grassy  trail  which 
stretched  from  the  foot  of  the  hillside  to  the  ranch-house. 
And  now  the  pale-eyed  little  man  bethought  him  of  the  fight 
Bill  had  promised  him. 


A  MAN'S  LOVE  337 

Quite  unperturbed  he  looked  down  at  the  fierce  pair  of 
revolvers  hanging  at  his  waist.  He  was  taking  no  chances 
this  time.  He  had  borrowed  these  guns  from  Minky,  the 
same  as  he  had  borrowed  the  mule  and  buckboard.  They 
were  fine  weapons,  too.  He  had  tried  them.  Oh,  no,  if  it 
came  to  shooting  he  would  give  a  different  account  of  him- 
self this  time.  Mr.  James  must  look  to  himself.  So  must 
Abe  Conroy.  He  would  have  no  mercy.  And  he  frowned 
darkly  down  at  the  gigantic  weapons. 

Now  he  considered  carefully  the  buildings  ahead.  The 
ranch  was  certainly  a  fine  place.  He  found  it  in  his  heart 
to  admire  it,  and  only  felt  pity  that  it  was  the  house  of  such 
a  pitiable  scoundrel  as  James.  And  yet  he  really  felt  sorry 
for  James.  Perhaps,  after  all,  he  ought  not  to  be  too  hard 
on  the  man.  Of  course,  he  was  a  wicked  scoundrel,  but 
that  might  be  merely  misfortune.  And,  anyway,  Jessie,  his 
Jessie,  was  a  very  beautiful  woman. 

His  eyes  wandered  on  to  the  distant  hills,  catching  up  the 
smaller  details  of  interest  as  they  traveled.  There  were 
hundreds  of  cattle  grazing  about,  and  horses,  too.  Then 
there  were  the  fenced-in  pastures  and  the  branding  corrals. 
James  must  certainly  be  an  excellent  rancher,  even  if  he 
were  a  scoundrel. 

But  the  place  was  very  still.  Strangely  still,  he  thought. 
There  was  not  even  one  of  the  usual  camp  dogs  to  offer  him 
its  hostile  welcome.  He  could  see  none  of  the  "  hands  " 
moving  about.  Perhaps  they  were  — 

Of  course.  For  the  moment  he  had  forgotten  that  they 
were  not  simple  ranchers.  He  had  forgotten  they  were 
man-hunters.  They  were  probably  out  on  the  trail  pursuing 
their  nefarious  calling.  And,  of  course,  Bill  knew  it. 
That  was  why  he  had  told  him  to  drive  out  on  this  par- 
ticular morning.  Wonderful  man,  Bill! 

Suddenly  the  distant  neighing  of  a  horse  startled  him,  and 
he  looked  across  the  woods  beyond  the  house,  the  direction, 


338       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

he  calculated,  whence  the  sound  came.  But  there  was  no 
horse  to  be  seen.  Nothing  except  the  darkling  cover  of  pine 
woods.  It  was  strange.  He  was  sure  the  sound  came  from 
that  direction.  No;  there  was  certainly  nothing  in  the 
shape  of  a  horse  out  there.  There  wasn't  even  a  cow. 
Perhaps  it  was  a  "  stray  "  amongst  the  trees.  So  he  dis- 
missed the  matter  from  his  mind  and  chirruped  at  the  old 
mule. 

And  now  he  came  up  to  the  ranch;  and  the  stillness  of 
the  place  became  even  more  pronounced.  It  really  was 
astonishing.  Surely  there  must  be  somebody  about.  He 
pushed  his  guns  well  to  the  front,  and  drew  his  prairie  hat 
forward  so  that  the  brim  shaded  his  pale  eyes.  He  further 
shifted  his  reins  into  his  left  hand,  and  sat  with  his  right  on 
the  butt  of  one  of  his  weapons.  Whatever  was  to  come  he 
was  ready  for  it.  One  thing  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to; 
he  would  stand  no  nonsense  from  anybody  —  certainly  not 
from  James  or  Conroy. 

The  old  mule  plodded  on,  and,  with  the  instinct  of  its 
kind,  headed  in  the  direction  of  the  nearest  corral.  And 
Scipio  was  forced  to  abandon  his  warlike  attitude,  and  with 
both  hands  drag  him  away  into  the  direction  of  the  house 
door.  But  somehow  in  those  last  moments  he  entirely  for- 
got that  his  mission  was  a  righting  one,  and  sat  shaking  the 
reins  and  chirruping  noisily  in  the  approved  manner  of  any 
farmer  on  a  visit. 

He  stared  up  at  the  house  as  he  came.  His  eyes  were 
filled  with  longing.  He  forgot  the  barns,  the  corrals  as  pos- 
sible ambushes.  He  forgot  every  thought  of  offense  or  de- 
fense. There  was  the  abode  of  his  beloved  Jessie,  and  all 
he  wondered  was  in  which  part  of  it  lay  her  prison.  He 
was  overflowing  with  a  love  so  great  that  there  was  no 
room  in  either  brain  or  body  for  any  other  thought  or  feel- 
ing. 

But  Jessie  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  a  shadow  of  dis- 


A  MAN'S  LOVE  339 

appointment  clouded  his  face  as  he  halted  the  only  too  will- 
ing beast  and  clambered  down  between  the  spidery  wheels. 
Nor  did  he  wait  to  secure  his  faithful  servitor,  or  to  think 
of  anything  practical  at  all.  He  hustled  up  to  the  open 
doorway,  and,  pushing  his  head  in  through  it,  called  till 
the  echoes  of  the  place  rang  — 

"  Ho,  Jess !  Ho,  you,  Jess !  It's  me  —  Zip !  I  come  to 
fetch  you  to  home." 

The  echoes  died  away  and  the  place  became  still  again. 
And  somehow  the  quiet  of  it  set  him  bristling.  His  hands 
flew  to  his  guns  and  remained  there  while  he  stood  listening. 
But  no  answer  came,  and  his  redundant  hope  slowly  ebbed, 
leaving  a  muddy  shore  of  apprehension. 

Then,  with  one  glance  back  over  his  shoulder,  he  moved 
into  the  building  with  much  the  stealth  of  a  thief.  In  the 
living-room  he  stood  and  stared  about  him  uncertainly.  It 
was  the  same  room  he  had  been  in  before,  and  he  remem- 
bered its  every  detail.  Suddenly  he  pushed  the  evil  of  those 
recollections  aside  and  called  again  — 

"Ho,  Jess!     Ho-o-o!" 

But  the  confidence  had  gone  from  his  tone,  and  his  call 
suggested  an  underlying  doubt. 

Again  came  the  echoes.  Again  they  died.  Then  —  yes 
—  there  was  a  sound  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  echoes. 
Again  —  yes  —  sure.  It  was  the  sound  of  someone  moving 
in  an  upper  room.  He  listened  attentively,  and  again  his 
eyes  brightened  with  ready  hope. 

"Jess!  Jess!  "he  called. 

And  this  time  there  was  an  answer. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  without  a  second's 
thought,  he  dashed  through  an  open  doorway  and  ran  up  the 
narrow  flight  of  stairs  beyond. 

At  last,  at  last!  His  Jessie!  He  had  heard  her  voice. 
He  had  heard  the  music  he  had  longed  for,  craved  for, 
prayed  for,  Was  there  anything  in  the  world  that  mattered 


340       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

else?  Was  there  anything  in  the  world  that  could  keep 
him  from  her  now?  No,  not  now.  His  love  permeated 
his  whole  being.  There  was  no  thought  in  his  mind  of 
what  she  had  done.  There  was  no  room  in  his  simple  heart 
for  anything  but  the  love  he  could  not  help,  and  would  not 
have  helped  if  he  could.  There  was  no  obstacle  now,  be 
it  mountain  or  stream,  that  he  could  not  bridge  to  reach  his 
Jessie.  His  love  was  his  life,  and  his  life  belonged  to  — 
Jessie. 

He  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs,  and  a  door  stood  open 
before  him.  He  did  not  pause  to  consider  what  lay  be- 
yond. His  instinct  guided  him.  His  love  led  him  whither 
it  would,  and  it  led  him  straight  into  the  presence  he 
desired  more  than  all  the  world.  It  led  him  straight  to 
Jessie. 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second  he  became  aware  of  a  vision 
of  womanhood,  to  him  the  most  perfect  in  all  the  world. 
He  saw  the  well-loved  face,  now  pale  and  drawn  with  suf- 
fering and  remorse.  He  saw  the  shadowed  eyes  full  of  an 
affrighted,  hunted  expression.  And,  with  a  cry  that  bore  in 
its  depth  all  the  love  of  a  heart  as  big  as  his  small  body,  he 
ran  forward  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms. 

But  Jessie's  voice  arrested  him  half-way.  It  thrilled  with 
hysterical  denial,  with  suffering,  regret,  horror.  And  so 
commanding  was  it  that  he  had  no  power  to  defy  its  man- 
date. 

"No,  no,"  she  shrilled.  "Keep  back  — back.  You 
must  not  come  near  me.  I  am  not  fit  for  you  to  touch. " 

"Not  fit—  ?" 

Scipio  stared  helplessly  at  her,  his  eyes  settling  uncer- 
tainly upon  her  hands  as  though  he  expected  to  find  upon 
them  signs  of  some  work  she  might  have  been  engaged 
upon  —  some  work  that  left  her,  as  she  had  said,  unfit  to 
touch.  His  comprehension  was  never  quick.  His  imagi- 
nation was  his  weakest  point. 


A  MAN'S  LOVE  341 

Then  his  eyes  came  to  her  well-loved  face  again,  and  he 
shook  his  head. 

"  You  —  you  got  me  beat,  Jess.     I  — " 

"  Ah,  Zip,  Zip ! "  Suddenly  Jessie's  hands  went  up  to 
her  face  and  her  eyes  were  hidden.  It  was  the  movement 
of  one  who  fears  to  witness  the  hatred,  the  loathing,  the 
scorn  which  her  own  accusing  mind  assures  her  she  merits. 
It  was  the  movement  of  one  whose  heart  was  torn  by  re- 
morse and  shame,  whose  eyes  were  open  to  her  sins,  and 
who  realizes  that  earthly  damnation  is  her  future  lot.  Her 
bosom  heaved,  and  dry  sobs  choked  her.  And  the  little 
man,  who  had  come  so  far  to  claim  her,  stood  perplexed  and 
troubled. 

At  last  he  struggled  out  a  few  words,  longing  to  console, 
but  scarcely  understanding  how  to  go  about  it.  All  he 
understood  was  that  she  was  ill  and  suffering. 

"  Say,  Jess,  you  musn't  to  cry,"  he  said  wistfully. 
"  Ther'  ain't  nothin'  to  set  you  cryin'.  Ther'  sure  ain't  — " 

But  a  woman's  hysteria  was  a  thing  unknown  to  him,  and 
his  gentle  attempt  was  swept  aside  in  a  torrent  of  insensate 
denial. 

"  No,  no !  Don't  come  near  me,"  she  cried  in  a  harsh, 
strident  tone.  "  Leave  me.  Leave  me  to  my  misery. 
Don't  dare  to  come  here  mocking  me.  Don't  dare  to  ac- 
cuse me.  Who  are  you  to  accuse  ?  You  are  no  better  than 
me.  You  have  no  right  to  come  here  as  my  judge.  You, 
with  your  smooth  ways,  your  quiet  sneers.  Don't  you  dare ! 
Don't  you  dare!  I'm  no  longer  your  wife,  so  you  have  no 
right.  I'm  his  —  his.  Do  you  understand?  I'm  his.  I 
shall  live  the  life  I  choose,  and  you  shall  not  molest  me. 
I  know  you.  You've  come  to  accuse  me,  to  tell  me  all  I 
am,  to  tax  me  with  my  shame.  It's  cruel  —  cruel.  Oh, 
God,  help  me  —  help  me !  " 

The  woman's  voice  died  out  in  a  piteous  wail  that  smote 
straight  to  the  heart  of  the  little  man  who  stood  shaking 


342       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

before  her  hysterical  outbreak.  He  knew  not  what  to  do. 
His  love  prompted  him  to  go  to  her  and  crush  her  to  his 
simple,  loving  heart,  but  somehow  he  found  himself  unable 
to  do  anything  but  gaze  with  longing  eyes  upon  the  heart- 
broken figure,  as  she  leant  upon  the  foot-rail  of  the  bed. 

He  stirred.  And  in  the  moments  that  passed  while  his 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  rich,  heaving  bosom,  his  mind 
groping  vaguely,  he  became  aware  of  everything  about  him. 
He  knew  he  was  in  her  bedroom.  He  knew  that  the  fur- 
nishings were  good.  He  knew  that  the  sunlight  was  pour- 
ing in  through  the  open  window,  and  that  a  broad  band  of 
dazzling  light  was  shining  upon  her  lustrous  dark  hair.  He 
knew  all  these  things  in  the  same  way  that  he  knew  she  was 
suffering  so  that  she  came  near  breaking  his  own  sym- 
pathetic heart 

But  though  his  intellect  failed  him,  and  he  had  no  idea  of 
what  he  ought  to  say  or  do,  words  came  at  last  and  tumbled 
headlong  from  his  lips,  just  as  they  were  inspired,  all  un- 
considered,  by  his  heart. 

"  Say,  Jessie  gal,"  he  cried  in  a  softly  persuasive  tone, 
"won't  you  come  to  home  —  an' — an'  help  me  out? 
Won't  you,  gal?" 

But  he  was  given  no  time  to  complete  his  appeal.  The 
woman  suddenly  raised  her  face,  and  once  more  broke  out  in 
hysterical  fury. 

"Home?  Home?  With  you?"  she  cried.  "Ha,  ha! 
That's  too  good!  Home,  with  you  to  forever  remind  me 
what  I  am  ?  For  you  to  sneer  at  me,  and  point  me  to  your 
friends  for  what  I  am  ?  Never,  never !  Go  you  back  where 
you  came  from.  I'm  not  a  wife.  Do  you  hear  ?  God  help 
me,  I'm  — "  And  she  buried  her  face  again  upon  her  arms. 

"  Won't  you  come  to  home,  gal  ? "  the  man  persisted. 
"  Won't  you  ?  I'm  so  desp'rit  lonesome.  An'  the  kids,  too. 
Gee !  they're  jest  yearnin'  an'  yearnin'  for  you  —  nigh  as  bad 


A  MAN'S  LOVE  343 

He  took  a  step  towards  her  with  his  arms  outstretched. 
All  his  soul  was  in  his  mild  eyes.  And  presently  Jessie 
raised  her  head  again.  She  stood  staring  at  the  wall  opposite 
her.  It  was  as  though  she  dared  not  face  him.  Her  eyes 
were  burning,  but  they  were  less  wild,  and  a  sudden  hope 
thrilled  the  man's  heart.  He  hurried  on,  fearful  lest  the  old 
storm  should  break  out  again  — 

"  Y'see,  Jess,  ther'  ain't  nuthin'  to  our  pore  little  shack 
on  the  '  dumps  '  without  you.  Ther'  sure  ain't.  Then  ther's 
my  claim.  I  sold  ha'f-.  An' —  an'  I  got  money  now  —  I  — " 

The  woman's  eyes  turned  slowly  upon  him.  They  were 
red  with  unshed  tears.  Their  expression  was  curious. 
There  was  doubt  and  shrinking  in  them.  It  almost  seemed 
as  if  she  were  wondering  if  all  the  past  days  of  regret  and 
longing  had  turned  her  brain,  and  she  were  listening  to  words 
conjured  by  a  distorted  fancy,  some  insane  delusion.  She 
could  not  believe.  But  Scipio  continued,  and  his  voice  was 
real  enough. 

"I  —  know  I  ain't  much  of  a  feller  for  the  likes  of  you, 
Jess,"  he  said  earnestly.  "  I  ain't  quick.  I  ain't  jest  bright. 
But  I  do  love  you,  my  dear.  I  love  you  so  I  can't  think 
nothin'  else.  I  want  you  to  home,  Jess,  that  bad,  I  thank 
God  ev'ry  day  He  give  you  to  me.  I  want  you  so  bad  it 
don't  seem  you  ever  bin  away  from  me.  I  want  you  that  bad 
I  can't  remember  the  last  week  or  so.  You'll  come  —  to 
home,  gal  —  now  ?  Think  —  jest  think  o'  them  bits  o'  twins. 
You  wait  till  you  see  'em  laff  when  they  get  eyes  on  you. 
Say,  they're  that  bonny  an'  bright.  They're  jest  like  you, 
wi'  their  eyes  all  a-sparklin',  an'  their  cheeks  that  rosy. 
Gee!  they're  jest  a-yearnin'  an'  a-callin'  fer  their  mam  — 
same  as  me." 

The  little  man  had  moved  another  step  nearer.  His  arms 
were  still  outstretched,  and  his  quaint  face  was  all  aglow 
with  the  warmth  and  love  that  stirred  him.  Somewhere  in 
the  back  of  his  dull  head  he  knew  that  he  was  pleading  for 


344       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

something  more  than  his  life.  He  had  no  subtlety  in  his 
manner  or  his  words.  It  was  just  his  heart  talking  for  him 
and  guiding  him. 

And  in  the  woman  had  risen  a  sudden  hope.  It  was  a 
struggling  ray  of  light  in  the  blackness  of  her  despair.  It 
was  a  weak  struggling  flicker  —  just  a  flicker.  And  even  as 
it  rose  its  power  was  dashed  again  in  the  profundity  of  her 
suffering.  She  could  not  grasp  the  hand  held  out  —  she  could 
not  see  it.  She  could  not  believe  the  words  her  ears  heard. 

"  No,  no,  don't  mock  at  me/'  she  cried,  with  a  sudden 
return  to  her  old  wildness.  "  It  is  cruel,  cruel !  Leave  me. 
For  pity's  sake  go.  How  can  you  stand  there  taunting  me 
so  ?  How  can  I  go  with  you  ?  How  can  I  face  my  children 
now?  Do  you  know  what  I  am?  No,  no,  of  course  you 
don't.  You  could  never  understand.  You,  with  your  fool- 
ish, simple  mind.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  am?  Shall  I  say 
it?  Shall  I—" 

But  the  man's  hand  went  up  and  held  her  silent. 

"  You  don't  need  to  say  nothing,  Jess,"  he  said  in  his 
mildest  tone.  "  You  don't  need  to,  sure.  Whatever  you 
are,  you're  all  the  world  to  me  —  jest  all." 

With  a  sudden  cry  the  woman's  head  dropped  upon  her 
outspread  arms,  and  the  merciful  tears,  so  long  denied  her, 
gushed  forth.  Her  body  heaved,  and  it  seemed  to  the  dis- 
traught man  that  her  poor  heart  must  be  breaking.  He  did 
not  know  what  those  tears  meant  to  her.  He  did  not  know 
that  the  victory  of  his  love  was  very,  very  near.  Only  he 
saw  her  bowed  in  passionate  distress,  and  he  had  no  thought 
of  how  to  comfort  her. 

He  waited,  waited.  But  the  flood  once  broken  loose  must 
needs  spend  itself.  Such  is  the  way  with  women,  of  whom 
he  had  so  small  an  understanding.  He  turned  away  to  the 
window.  He  stared  with  unseeing  eyes  at  the  fair  picture 
of  the  beautiful  valley.  The  moments  passed  —  long,  dreary 
moments  rapidly  changing  to  minutes.  And  then  at  last  the 


A  MAN'S  LOVE  345 

storm  began  to  die  down,  and  he  turned  again  towards  her 
and  drew  a  step  nearer. 

"  Jess  —  Jess,"  he  murmured. 

Then  he  took  another  hesitating  step. 

But  his  words  seemed  to  have  started  her  tears  afresh,  and 
into  his  eyes  came  that  painful  perplexity  again. 

Again  he  ventured,  and  his  step  this  time  brought  him 
close  to  her  side. 

"  Jess,  gal  —  Jess,"  he  pleaded,  with  infinite  tenderness. 

And  as  the  woman  continued  to  sob  he  stole  one  arm  gently 
about  her  waist.  She  made  no  move.  Only  her  shaking 
body  calmed,  and  her  tears  became  more  silent. 

He  strove  to  draw  her  towards  him,  but  she  clung  to  the 
bed-rail  with  almost  child-like  persistence,  as  though  she 
dared  not  permit  herself  the  hope  his  encircling  arms  in- 
spired. But  she  had  not  rebuffed  him,  so  with  some  asser- 
tion he  thrust  his  other  arm  about  her,  and,  exerting  force, 
deliberately  turned  her  towards  him. 

"  Say,  don't  you  to  cry,  lass,"  he  whispered  softly. 
"  Don't  you,  now.  It  jest  makes  me  sore  right  through.  It 
jest  makes  me  feel  all  of  a  choke,  an' —  an'  I  want  to  cry,  too. 
Say,  gal,  I  love  you  good.  I  do,  Jess  —  I  sure  do.  Ther' 
ain't  nothin'  in  the  world  I  wouldn't  do  to  stop  them  tears. 
Come  to  home,  gal  —  come  to  home." 

And  as  he  finished  speaking  he  drew  her  dark  head  down 
to  his  breast,  and  laid  his  thin  cheek  against  her  wealth  of 
hair.  And,  pressing  her  to  the  home  that  was  for  all  time 
hers,  his  own  eyes  filled  with  tears  which  slowly  rolled  down 
his  cheeks  and  mingled  themselves  with  hers. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE   REASON   WHY 

WHEN  Scipio  turned  his  back  upon  the  valley  it  was  with 
the  intention  of  resting  his  old  mule  at  the  place  of  the 
friendly  farmer  whom  he  had  encountered  on  his  first  mem- 
orable visit  to  James'  secret  abode.  From  thence,  after  a 
night's  rest,  he  would  start  late  next  day,  and  make  the  creek 
soon  after  sundown.  For  the  sake  of  Jessie  he  had  no  desire 
to  make  a  daylight  entry  into  the  camp. 

The  old  mule  certainly  needed  rest.  And,  besides,  it  was 
pleasant  to  prolong  the  journey.  Moments  such  as  the  pres- 
ent were  scarce  enough  in  life.  And  though  Jessie  was  with 
him  for  all  time  now,  he  greedily  hugged  to  himself  these 
hours  alone  with  her,  when  there  was  nothing  but  the  fair 
blue  sky  and  waving  grass,  the  hills  and  valleys,  to  witness 
his  happiness,  none  of  the  harshness  of  life  to  obtrude  upon 
his  perfect  joy ;  nothing,  not  even  the  merest  duties  of  daily 
life,  to  mar  the  delicious  companionship  which  his  wife's 
long-desired  presence  afforded  him.  The  whole  journey  was 
to  be  a  sort  of  honeymoon,  a  thousand  times  sweeter  for  the 
misery  and  unhappiness  through  which  they  had  both  passed. 

He  thought  of  nothing  else.  The  very  existence  of  James 
and  his  gang  had  passed  from  his  recollection.  He  had  no 
mind  for  dangers  of  any  sort.  He  had  no  mind  for  anything 
or  anybody  but  his  Jessie,  his  beautiful  Jessie  —  his  wife. 

Had  he  had  the  least  curiosity  or  interest  in  other  matters, 
there  were  many  things,  strange  things,  about  the  recovery 
of  his  wife  which  might  have  set  him  wondering.  For  in- 
stance, he  might  have  speculated  as  to  the  desertion  of  the 


THE  REASON  WHY  347 

ranch  —  the  absence  of  dogs,  the  absence  of  all  those  signs 
which  tell  of  a  busy  enterprise  —  things  which  could  not  be 
adequately  accounted  for  by  the  mere  absence  of  the  head  of 
it,  even  though  he  were  accompanied  by  his  fighting  men. 
He  might  have  glanced  about  among  the  barns  and  corrals, 
or  —  he  might  even  have  questioned  his  Jessie. 

Had  he  done  either  of  these  things  a  certain  amount  of 
enlightenment  would  undoubtedly  have  penetrated  to  his 
unsuspicious  mind.  He  must  inevitably  have  detected  the 
hand  or  hands  of  his  earthly  guardian  angels  in  the  manner 
in  which  his  path  had  been  cleared  of  all  obstructions. 

Had  he  been  less  occupied  with  his  own  happiness,  with 
the  joy  of  having  Jessie  once  more  beside  him,  and  chanced 
to  look  back  into  the  valley  as  he  left  it  forever,  he  would 
certainly  have  received  enlightenment.  But  he  never  knew 
what  had  been  done  for  him,  he  never  knew  the  subtle 
working  for  his  welfare. 

Thus  it  was,  all  unobserved  by  him,  the  moment  he  was 
at  sufficient  distance  from  the  ranch,  three  horsemen  sud- 
denly appeared  from  amidst  the  most  adjacent  point  of  the 
forest  on  the  far  side  of  the  valley  and  galloped  across  to  the 
house.  They  ran  their  horses  to  cover  amongst  the  buildings 
and  dismounted,  immediately  vanishing  into  one  of  the  barns. 

And  as  they  disappeared  a  good  deal  of  laughter,  a  good 
deal  of  forceful  talk,  came  from  the  place  which  had  swal- 
lowed them  up.  Then,  after  awhile,  the  three  reappeared 
in  the  open,  and  with  them  came  an  old  choreman,  whose 
joints  ached,  and  whose  villainous  temper  had  seriously  suf- 
fered under  the  harsh  bonds  which  had  held  him  secure  from 
interference  with  Scipio  for  so  long. 

The  men  herded  him  out  before  them,  quite  heedless  of 
his  bitter  vituperation  and  blasphemy.  And  when  they  had 
driven  him  forth  Sunny  Oak  pointed  out  to  him  the  retreat- 
ing buckboard  as  it  vanished  over  the  far  hillside. 

"  Ther'  they  go,  you  miserable  old  son  of  a  moose,"  he 


348       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

cried  with  a  laugh.  "  Ther'  they  go.  An'  I  guess  when 
James  gits  around  ag'in  you'll  likely  pay  a  mighty  fine 
reck'nin'.  An*  I'll  sure  say  I  won't  be  a  heap  sorry  neither. 
You've  give  me  a  power  o'  trouble  comin'  along  out  here. 
I  ain't  had  no  sort  o'  rest  f er  hours  an'  hours,  an'  I  hate  folks 
that  sets  me  busy." 

"  You're  a  pizenous  varmint,  sure,"  added  Sandy,  feeling 
that  Sunny  must  not  be  allowed  all  the  talk.  "  An'  your 
langwidge  is  that  bad  I'll  need  to  git  around  a  Bible-class 
ag'in  to  disinfect  my  ears." 

"  You  sure  will,"  agreed  Toby,  with  one  of  his  fatuous 
grins.  "  I  never  see  any  feller  who  needed  disinfectin' 
more."  Then  he  turned  upon  the  evil-faced  choreman  and 
added  his  morsel  of  admonition.  "  Say,  old  man,  as  )rou 
hope  to  git  buried  yourself  when  James  gits  around  ag'in,  I 
guess  you  best  go  an'  dig  that  miser'ble  cur  o'  yours  under, 
'fore  he  gits  pollutin'  the  air  o'  this  yer  valley,  same  as  you 
are  at  the  moment.  He's  cost  me  a  goodish  scrap,  but  I 
don't  grudge  it  him  noways.  Scrappin's  an  elegant  pastime, 
sure  —  when  you  come  out  right  end  of  it." 

After  that,  cowed  but  furious,  the  old  man  was  allowed  to 
depart,  and  the  three  guardians  of  Scipio's  person  deliber- 
ately returned  to  their  charge.  Their  instructions  were 
quite  clear,  even  though  they  only  partially  understood  the 
conditions  making  their  work  necessary.  Scipio  must  be 
safeguarded.  They  were  to  form  an  invisible  escort,  clear- 
ing his  road  for  him  and  making  his  journey  safe.  So  they 
swung  into  the  saddle  and  rode  hot-foot  on  the  trail  of  their 
unconscious  charge. 

For  the  most  part  they  rode  silently.  Already  the  journey 
had  been  long  and  tiresomely  uneventful,  and  Sunny  Oak 
particularly  reveled  in  an  impotent  peevishness  which  held 
him  intensely  sulky.  The  widower,  too,  was  feeling  any- 
thing but  amiable.  What  with  his  recent  futile  work  on  a 
claim  which  was  the  ridicule  of  the  camp,  and  now  the  dis- 


THE  REASON  WHY  349 

comfort  of  a  dreary  journey,  his  feelings  towards  Wild  Bill 
were  none  too  cordial.  Perhaps  Toby  was  the  most  cheerful 
of  the  three.  The  matters  of  the  Trust  had  been  a  pleasant 
break  in  the  daily  routine  of  dispossessing  himself  of  re- 
mittances from  his  friends  in  the  East.  And  the  unusual 
effort  made  him  feel  good. 

They  had  reached  the  crown  of  the  hill  bordering  the 
valley,  where  the  trail  debouched  upon  the  prairie  beyond, 
and  the  effort  of  easing  his  horse,  as  the  struggling  beast 
clawed  its  way  up  the  shelving  slope,  at  last  set  loose  the 
tide  of  the  loafer's  ill-temper.  He  suddenly  turned  upon  his 
companions,  his  angry  face  dirty  and  sweating. 

"  Say,"  he  cried,  "  of  all  the  blamed  fules  I'd  say  we  three 
was  the  craziest  ever  pupped." 

Sandy  turned  inquiring,  contemptuous  eyes  in  his  direc- 
tion. He  always  adopted  a  defensive  attitude  when  Sunny 
opened  out.  Toby  only  grinned  and  waited  for  what  was 
to  come. 

"  Meanin'  ?  "  inquired  Sandy  in  his  coldest  manner. 

"  Meanin'  ?  Gee !  it  don't  need  a  mule's  intellec'  to  get 
my  meanin',"  said  the  loafer  witheringly.  "  Wot,  in  the 
name  o'  glory,  would  I  mean  but  this  doggone  ride  we're 
takin'?  Say,  here's  us  three  muttons  chasin'  glory  on  the 
tail  o'  two  soppy  lambs  that  ain't  got  savvee  enough  between 
'em  to  guess  the  north  end  of  a  hoss  when  he's  goin'  south. 
An',  wot's  more,  we're  doin'  it  like  a  lot  o'  cluckin'  hens 
chasin'  a  brood  o'  fule  chicks.  I  tell  you  it  jest  makes  me 
sick.  An'  ef  I  don't  git  six  weeks'  rest  straight  on  end  after 
this  is  thro'  I'll  be  gettin'  plumb  '  bug/  or  —  or  the  colic,  or 
suthin'  ornery  bum.  I've  done.  Sufferin'  Creek  ain't  no 
place  fer  a  peace-lovin'  feller  like  me,  whose  doin'  all  he 
knows  to  git  thro'  life  easy  an'  without  breakin'  up  a  natter- 
ally  delicate  constitootion.  I'm  done.  I  quit." 

Sandy's  face  was  a  study  in  sneers.  Not  because  he  did 
not  agree  with  the  sentiments,  but  Sunny  always  irritated 


350       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

him.  But  Toby  only  grinned  the  harder,  and  for  once,  while 
the  widower  was  preparing  an  adequate  retort,  contrived  to 
forestall  him. 

"  Seems  to  me,  Sunny,  you  ain't  got  a  heap  o'  kick  comin' 
to  you,"  he  said  in  his  slow  way.  "  I  allow  you  come  in 
this  racket  because  you  notioned  it.  Mebbe  you'll  say  why 
you  did  it,  else  ?  " 

This  unexpected  challenge  from  Toby  had  the  effect  of 
diverting  the  widower's  thoughts.  He  left  the  consideration 
of  the  snub  he  had  been  preparing  for  the  loafer  for  some 
future  time,  and  waited  for  the  other's  reply.  But  Sunny 
was  roused,  and  stared  angrily  round  upon  the  grinning  face 
of  his  questioner. 

"  Guess  that  ain't  no  affair  of  yours,  anyway,"  he  snorted. 
"  I  don't  stand  f er  questions  from  no  remittance  guy.  Gee ! 
things  is  gittin'  pretty  low-down  when  it  comes  to  that." 

"  Maybe  a  remittance  man  ain't  a  first-class  callin',"  said 
Toby,  his  grin  replaced  by  a  hot  flush.  "  But  if  it  comes  to 
that  I'd  say  a  lazy  loafin'  bum  ain't  a  heap  o'  credit  noways 
neither.  Howsum,  them  things  don't  alter  matters  any. 
An'  I,  fer  one,  is  sick  o'  your  grouse — 'cos  that's  all  it  is. 
Say,  you're  settin'  ther'  on  top  o'  that  hoss  like  a  badly  sculp- 
tured image  that  needs  a  week's  bathin',  an'  talkin'  like  the 
no-account  fule  most  fellers  guess  you  to  be.  Wai,  show  us 
you  ain't  none  o'  them  things,  show  us  you  got  some  sort  of 
a  man  inside  your  hide,  an'  tell  us  straight  why  you're  out  on 
this  doggone  trail  when  you're  yearnin'  fer  your  blankets." 

The  attack  was  so  unexpected  that  for  once  Sunny  had  no 
reply  ready.  And  Sandy  positively  beamed  upon  the  chal- 
lenger. And  so  they  rode  on  for  a  few  moments.  Then 
Toby  broke  the  silence  impatiently. 

"  Wai  ?  "  he  inquired,  his  face  wreathed  in  a  grin  that  had 
none  of  the  amiability  usual  to  it. 

Sunny  turned ;  and  it  was  evident  all  his  good-nature  was 
restored.  He  had  suddenly  realized  that  to  be  baited  by  the 


THE  REASON  WHY  351 

fatuous  Toby  was  almost  refreshing,  and  he  spoke  without 
any  sort  of  animosity.  It  would  certainly  have  been  differ- 
ent had  the  challenge  come  from  the  hectoring  widower. 

"  Why  for  do  I  do  it  — an*  hate  it?  Say,  that's  jest  one  o' 
them  things  a  feller  can't  tell.  Y'see,  a  feller  grouses  thro' 
life,  a-worritin'  hisself  'cos  things  don't  seem  right  by  his 
way  o'  thinkin'.  That's  natteral.  He  guesses  he  wants  to 
do  things  one  way,  then  sudden-like,  fer  no  reason  he  ken 
see,  he  gits  doin'  'em  another.  That's  natteral,  too.  Y'see, 
ther's  two  things,  it  seems  to  me,  makes  a  feller  act.  One's 
his  fool  head,  an'  the  other  —  well,  I  don't  rightly  know  what 
the  other  is,  'cep'  it's  his  stummick.  Anyways,  that's  how  it 
is.  My  head  makes  me  want  to  go  one  way,  an'  my  feet  gits 
me  goin'  another.  So  it  is  with  this  lay-out.  An'  I  guess, 
ef  you  was  sure  to  git  to  rock-bottom  o'  things,  I'd  say  we're 
all  doin'  this  thing  'cos  Wild  Bill  said  so." 

He  finished  up  with  a  chuckle  that  thoroughly  upset  the 
equilibrium  of  the  widower,  and  set  him  jumping  at  the 
chance  of  retort. 

"  Guess  you're  scairt  to  death  o'  Wild  Bill,"  he  sneered. 

"  Wai,"  drawled  Sunny  easily,  "  I  guess  he's  a  feller  wuth 
bein'  scairt  of  —  which  is  more  than  you  are." 

Sandy  snorted  defiantly.  But  a  further  wordy  war  was 
averted  by  the  remittance  man. 

"  Ther's  more  of  a  man  to  you  than  I  allowed,  Sunny,"  he 
said  sincerely.  "  There  sure  is.  Bill's  a  man,  whatever  else 
he  is.  He's  sure  the  best  man  I've  seen  on  SufTerin'  Creek. 
But  you're  wrong  'bout  him  bein'  the  reason  of  us  worritin' 
ourselves  sick  on  this  yer  trail.  It  ain't  your  head  which 
needs  re-decoratin',  neither.  Nor  it  ain't  your  stummick, 
which,  I  allow,  ain't  the  most  wholesome  part  of  you. 
Neither  it  ain't  your  splay  feet.  You  missed  it,  Sunny,  an' 
I  allus  tho't  you  was  a  right  smart  guy.  The  reason  you're 
on  this  doggone  trail  chasin'  glory  wot  don't  never  git 
around,  is  worryin'  along  in  a  buckboard  ahead  of  us,  behind 


352       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

ole  Minky's  mule,  an'  he's  hoofin'  to  home  at  an  express 
slug's  gait.  That's  the  reason  you're  on  the  trail,  an'  nothin' 
else.  You're  jest  a  lazy,  loafin',  dirty  bum  as  'ud  make  mud 
out  of  a  fifty-gallon  bath  o'  boilin'  soapsuds  if  you  was  set 
in  it,  but  you  was  mighty  sore  seein'  pore  Zip  kicked  to  death 
by  his  rotten  luck.  An'  feelin'  that  aways  you  kind  o'  f ergot 
to  be  tired.  That's  why  you're  on  this  doggone  trail.  'Cos 
your  fool  heart  ain't  as  dirty  as  your  carkis." 

And  as  he  fired  his  last  word  Toby  dashed  his  spurs  into 
the  flanks  of  his  jaded  horse,  and  galloped  out  of  reach  of  the 
tide  of  vituperation  he  knew  full  well  to  be  flowing  in  his 
wake. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  LUCK  OF   SCIPIO 

SUFFERING  CREEK  was  again  in  a  state  of  ferment.  It 
seemed  as  if  there  were  nothing  but  one  excitement  after 
another  in  the  place  now.  No  sooner  was  the  matter  of  the 
gold-stage  passed  than  a  fresh  disturbance  was  upon  them. 
And  again  the  established  industry  of  the  place  was  com- 
pletely at  a  standstill.  Human  nature  could  no  more  with- 
stand the  infection  that  was  ravaging  the  camp  than  keep 
cool  under  a  political  argument.  The  thing  that  had  hap- 
pened now  was  tremendous. 

Staid  miners,  old  experienced  hands  whose  lives  were 
wedded  to  their  quest  of  gold,  whose  interest  in  affairs  was 
only  taken  from  a  standpoint  of  their  benefit,  or  otherwise, 
to  the  gold  interest,  were  caught  in  the  feverish  tide,  and 
sent  hurtling  along  with  the  rushing  flood.  Men  whose 
pulses  usually  only  received  a  quickening  from  the  news  of  a 
fresh  gold  discovery  now  found  themselves  gaping  with  the 
wonder  of  it  all,  and  asking  themselves  how  it  was  this  thing 
had  happened,  and  if,  indeed,  it  had  happened,  or  were  they 
dreaming. 

The  whole  thing  was  monstrous,  stupendous,  and  here, 
happening  in  their  midst,  practically  all  Suffering  Creek  were 
out  of  it.  But  in  spite  of  this  the  fever  of  excitement  raged, 
and  no  one  was  wholly  impervious  to  it.  Opinions  ran  riot 
—  opinions  hastily  conceived  and  expressed  without  consid- 
eration, which  is  the  way  of  people  whose  nerves  have  been 
suddenly  strung  tight  by  a  matter  of  absorbing  interest. 
Men  who  knew  nothing  of  the  nature  of  things  which  could 


354       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

produce  so  astonishing  a  result  found  themselves  dissecting 
causes  and  possibilities  which  did  not  exist,  and  never  could 
exist.  They  hastily  proceeded  to  lay  down  their  own  law 
upon  the  subject  with  hot  emphasis.  They  felt  it  necessary 
to  do  this  to  disguise  their  lack  of  knowledge  and  restore 
their  personal  standing.  For  the  latter,  they  felt,  had  been 
sorely  shaken  by  this  sudden  triumph  of  those  whom  they 
had  so  lately  ridiculed. 

And  what  was  this  wonderful  thing  that  had  happened? 
What  was  it  that  had  set  these  hardened  men  crazy  with 
excitement?  It  had  come  so  suddenly,  so  mysteriously.  It 
had  come  during  the  hours  of  darkness,  when  weary  men 
hugged  their  blankets,  and  dreamed  their  dreams  of  the  craft 
which  made  up  their  whole  world. 

There  was  no  noise,  no  epoch-making  upheaval,  no  blatant 
trumpetings  to  herald  its  coming.  And  the  discovery  was 
made  by  a  single  man  on  his  way  to  his  work  just  after  the 
great  golden  sun  had  risen. 

He  was  trailing  his  way  along  the  creek  bank  over  the  road 
which  led  eventually  to  Spawn  City.  He  was  slouching 
along  the  wood-lined  track  at  that  swinging,  laborious  gait 
of  a  heavy-booted  man.  And  his  way  lay  across  the  oozy 
claim  of  Scipio. 

But  he  never  reached  the  claim.  Long  before  he  came  in 
view  of  it  he  found  himself  confronted  with  a  sluggish 
stream  progressing  slowly  along  the  beaten  sand  of  the  trail. 
For  a  moment  he  believed  that  the  creek  had,  for  some 
freakish  reason,  suddenly  overflowed  its  banks.  But  this 
thought  was  swiftly  swept  aside,  and  he  stood  snuffing  the 
air  like  some  warhorse,  and  gaping  at  the  stream  as  it 
lapped  about  his  feet. 

It  came  on  slowly  but  irresistibly.  And  ahead  of  him,  and 
amongst  the  trailside  bush,  he  beheld  nothing  but  this  rising 
flood.  Then  of  a  sudden  something  of  its  meaning  pene- 
trated his  dazed  comprehension,  and,  turning  abruptly,  he 


THE  LUCK  OF  SCIPIO  355 

started  to  run  for  the  higher  ground.  He  sped  swiftly 
through  the  surrounding  bush,  dodging  tree-trunks,  and 
threading  his  way  circuitously  in  the  direction  where  stood 
the  great  cut  bank  of  quartz  which  backed  Scipio's  claim. 
The  smell  of  the  air  had  told  him  its  tale,  and  he  knew  that 
he  had  made  a  wonderful,  an  astounding  discovery.  And 
with  this  knowledge  had  come  the  thought  of  his  own  possi- 
ble advantage.  Eagerly  he  began  to  seek  the  source  of  the 
flood. 

But  his  hopes  were  completely  dashed  the  moment  he 
reached  the  bank  overlooking  Scipio's  claim.  There  lay  the 
source  of  the  flood,  right  in  the  heart  of  the  little  man's 
despised  land.  A  great  gusher  of  coal-oil  was  belching  from 
the  mouth  of  the  shaft  which  Sandy  Joyce  had  been  at  work 
upon,  and  the  whole  clearing,  right  from  the  oozy  swamp 
beyond  to  the  higher  ground  of  the  river  bank,  stealing  its 
way  along  trail  and  through  bush,  lay  a  vast  shallow  lake  of 
raw  coal-oil. 

The  disappointed  man  waited  just  sufficiently  long  to 
realize  the  magnitude  of  Scipio's  luck,  and  then  set  off  at  a 
run  for  the  camp. 

And  in  half-an-hour  the  camp  was  in  a  raging  fever.  In 
half-an-hour  nearly  the  whole  of  Suffering  Creek  had  set  out 
for  the  claim,  that  they  might  see  for  themselves  this  wonder- 
ful thing  that  had  happened.  In  half-an-hour  the  whole 
thing  was  being  explained  in  theory  by  everybody  to  every- 
body else.  In  half-an-hour  everybody  was  inquiring  for 
Scipio,  and  each  and  all  were  desirous  of  being  first  to  con- 
vey the  news. 

And  when  it  was  discovered  that  Scipio  was  from  home, 
and  knew  nothing  of  his  good  fortune,  a  fresh  thought  came 
to  every  mind.  What  had  become  of  him?  They  learned 
that  he  had  borrowed  Minky's  buckboard,  and  had  driven 
away.  And  immediately  in  the  public  mind  crept  an  unex- 
pressed question.  Had  Zip  abandoned  the  place  in  the 


356       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

face  of  his  ill-luck,  and,  if  so,  what  about  this  gigantic  oil 
find?  ' 

However,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  at  present  but  wait. 
The  flow  of  oil  could  not  be  checked,  and  the  tremendous 
waste  must  go  on.  The  gusher  would  flow  on  until  the 
pressure  below  lessened,  and  after  that  it  would  die  down, 
and  require  pumps  to  further  exhaust  it. 

So  the  camp  resigned  itself  to  a  contemplation  of  this 
wonderful  new  industry  that  had  sprung  up  unsought  in  their 
midst;  and  the  luck  of  Scipio  was  upon  everybody's  lips. 
Nor  was  there  only  the  wonder  of  it  in  every  mind,  for,  after 
the  first  feelings  of  envy  and  covetousness  had  passed  away, 
the  humor  of  the  thing  became  apparent.  And  it  was  Joe 
Brand,  in  the  course  of  discussing  the  matter  with  Minky, 
who  first  drew  attention  to  the  queer  pranks  which  fortune 
sometimes  plays. 

"  Say,  don't  it  lick  creation  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Can  you  beat 
it  ?  No,  sirree.  It's  the  best  ever  —  it  sure  is.  Say,  here's 
the  worstest  mule-head  ever  got  foothold  on  this  yer  conti- 
nent sets  out  to  chase  gold  in  a  place  no  one  outside  a  bug- 
house would  ever  find  time  to  git  busy,  an'  may  I  be  skinned 
alive  an'  my  bones  grilled  fer  a  cannibal's  supper  if  he  don't 
find  sech  a  fortune  in  ile  as  'ud  set  all  the  whole  blamed 
world's  ile  market  hatin'  itself.  Gee !  " 

And  Minky  nodded  his  head.  He  also  smiled  slyly  upon 
those  who  stood  about  him. 

"  Ther'  sure  is  elegant  humor  to  most  things  in  this 
yer  life,"  he  said  dryly.  "Which  'minds  me  Wild  Bill 
bo't  ha'f  o'  that  claim  o*  Zip's  'fore  he  set  out  fer  Spawn 
City." 

And  at  his  words  somehow  a  curious  thoughtfulness  fell 
upon  his  hearers.  Nor  was  there  any  responsive  smile 
among  them.  The  humor  he  spoke  of  seemed  to  have  passed 
them  by,  leaving  them  quite  untouched  by  its  point.  And 
presently  they  drifted  away,  joining  other  groups,  where  the 


THE  LUCK  OF  SCIPIO  357 

reminder  that  Bill  had  been  derided  by  the  whole  camp  for 
his  absurd  purchase  had  an  equally  damping  effect. 

But  the  day  was  to  be  more  eventful  even  than  the  prom- 
ise of  the  morning  had  suggested.  And  the  second  surprise 
came  about  noon. 

Excitement  was  still  raging.  Half  the  camp  was  down  at 
Zip's  claim  watching  the  miracle  of  the  oil  gusher,  and  the 
other  half  was  either  on  their  way  thither  or  returning  from 
it.  Some  of  them  were  gathering  the  raw  oil  in  cans  and 
tubs,  others  were  hurrying  to  do  so.  And  none  of  them 
quite  knew  why  they  were  doing  it,  or  what,  if  any,  the  use 
they  could  put  the  stuff  to.  They  were  probably  inspired  by 
the  fact  that  there  was  the  stuff  going  to  waste  by  the  hun- 
dreds of  gallons,  and  they  felt  it  incumbent  upon  them  to 
save  what  they  could.  Anyway,  it  was  difficult  to  tear  them- 
selves away  from  the  fascinations  of  Nature's  prodigal  out- 
burst, and  so,  as  being  the  easiest  and  most  pleasurable 
course,  they  abandoned  themselves  to  it. 

So  it  was  that  Minky  found  his  store  deserted.  He 
lounged  idly  out  on  to  the  veranda  and  propped  himself 
against  one  of  the  posts.  And,  standing  there,  his  thought- 
ful eyes  roamed,  subtly  attracted  to  the  spot  where  Zip's  luck 
had  demonstrated  itself. 

He  stood  there  for  some  time  watching  the  hurrying  fig- 
ures of  the  miners  as  they  moved  to  and  fro,  but  his  mind 
was  far  away.  Somehow  Zip's  luck,  in  spite  of  the  excessive 
figures  which  extravagant  minds  had  estimated  it  at,  only 
took  second  place  with  him.  He  was  thinking  of  the  man 
who  had  journeyed  to  Spawn  City.  He  was  worrying  about 
him,  his  one  and  only  friend. 

He  had  understood  something  of  that  self-imposed  task 
which  the  gambler  had  undertaken,  though  its  full  signifi- 
cance had  never  quite  been  his.  Now  he  felt  that  in  some 
way  he  was  responsible.  Now  he  felt  that  the  journey 
should  never  have  been  taken.  He  felt  that  he  should  have 


358       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

refused  to  ship  his  gold.  And  yet  he  knew  full  well  that  his 
refusal  would  have  been  quite  useless.  Wild  Bill  was  a  man 
whom  opposition  only  drove  the  harder,  and  he  would  have 
contrived  a  means  of  carrying  out  his  purpose,  no  matter 
what  barred  his  way. 

However,  even  with  this  assurance  he  still  felt  uncomfort- 
ably regretful.  His  responsibility  was  no  less,  and  for  the 
life  of  him  he  could  not  rise  to  enthusiasm  over  this  luck  of 
Scipio's.  It  would  have  been  different  if  Bill  had  been  there 
to  discuss  the  matter  with  him. 

And  as  the  moments  passed  his  spirits  fell  lower  and 
lower,  until  at  last  a  great  depression  weighed  him  down. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  depression,  when,  for  the  hun- 
dredth time,  he  had  wished  that  his  friend  had  never  started 
out  on  his  wild  enterprise,  that  he  suddenly  found  himself 
staring  out  across  the  river  at  the  Spawn  City  trail.  He 
stared  for  some  moments,  scarcely  comprehending  that  at 
which  he  looked.  Then  suddenly  he  became  aware  of  a 
horseman  racing  down  the  slope  towards  the  river,  and 
in  a  moment  mind  and  body  were  alert,  and  he  stood 
waiting. 

Minky  was  still  standing  on  his  veranda.  But  he  was  no 
longer  leaning  against  the  post ;  he  was  holding  a  letter  in  his 
hand  which  he  had  just  finished  reading.  It  was  a  painful- 
looking  document  for  all  its  neat,  clear  writing.  It  was 
stained  with  patches  of  dark  red  that  were  almost  brown, 
and  the  envelope  he  held  in  his  other  hand  was  almost 
unrecognizable  for  the  same  hideous  stain  that  completely 
covered  it. 

The  man  who  had  delivered  it  was  resting  on  the  edge  of 
the  veranda.  He  had  told  his  story ;  and  now  he  sat  chew- 
ing, and  watching  his  weary  horse  tethered  at  the  hitching- 
post  a  few  yards  away. 

"  An'  he  drove  that  cart  f er  six  hours  —  dead  ?  "  Minky 


THE  LUCK  OF  SCIPIO  359 

asked,  without  removing  his  eyes  from  the  blood-stained 
letter. 

"  That's  sure  how  I  sed,"  returned  the  messenger,  and 
went  stolidly  on  with  his  chewing.  The  other  breathed 
deeply. 

Then  he  read  the  letter  over  again.  He  read  it  slowly,  so 
as  to  miss  no  word  or  meaning  it  might  contain.  And, 
curiously,  as  he  read  a  feeling  of  wonder  filled  him  at  the 
excellence  of  the  writing  and  composition.  He  did  not  seem 
to  remember  having  seen  Bill's  writing  before.  And  here 
the  rough,  hard-living  gambler  was  displaying  himself  a  man 
of  considerable  education.  It  was  curious.  All  the  years 
of  their  friendship  had  passed  without  him  discovering  that 
his  gambling  friend  was  anything  but  an  illiterate  ruffian  of 
the  West,  with  nothing  but  a  great  courage,  a  powerful 
personality  and  a  moderately  honest  heart  to  recommend 
him. 

s 

"  MY  DEAR  MINKY, 

"  I'm  dead  —  dead  as  mutton.  Whether  I'm  cooked 
mutton,  or  raw,  I  can't  just  say.  Anyway,  I'm  dead  —  or 
you  wouldn't  get  this  letter. 

"  Now  this  letter  is  not  to  express  regrets,  or  to  sentimen- 
talize. You'll  agree  that's  not  my  way.  Death  doesn't 
worry  me  any.  No,  this  letter  is  just  a  '  last  will  and  testa- 
ment,' as  the  lawyers  have  it.  And  I'm  sending  it  to  you  be- 
cause I  know  you'll  see  things  fixed  right  for  me.  You  see, 
I  put  everything  into  your  hands  for  two  reasons:  you're 
honest,  and  you're  my  friend.  Now,  seeing  you're  rich  and 
prosperous  I  leave  you  nothing  out  of  my  wad.  But  I'd  like 
to  hand  you  a  present  of  my  team  —  if  they're  still  alive  — 
team  and  harness  and  cart.  And  you'll  know,  seeing  I  al- 
ways had  a  notion  the  sun,  moon  and  stars  rose  and  set  in  my 
horses,  the  spirit  in  which  I  give  them  to  you,  and  the  re- 
gard I  had  for  our  friendship.  Be  good  to  them,  old  friend. 


360       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

"  For  the  rest,  my  dollars,  and  anything  else  I've  got,  I'd 
like  Zip's  kids  to  have.  They're  bright  kids,  and  I've  got 
a  notion  for  them.  And,  seeing  Zip's  their  father,  maybe 
dollars  will  be  useful  to  them.  You  can  divide  things 
equally  between  them. 

"  And  in  conclusion  you  can  tell  Zip  if  he  can  do  a  good 
turn,  which  I  don't  suppose  he'll  be  able  to,  to  either  Sunny 
Oak,  or  Sandy  Joyce,  or  Toby  Jenks,  he'd  best  do  it. 
Because  he  owes  them  something  he'll  probably  never  hear 
about. 

"  This  is  the  last  will  and  testament,  as  the  lawyers  say,  of 

"  Your  old  friend, 

"WILD  BILL. 
"  (A  no-account  gambler,  late  of  Abilene.)  " 

Minky  looked  up  from  the  letter  again,  and  his  eyes  were 
shadowed.  He  felt  that  that  letter  contained  more  of  the 
gambler's  heart  than  he  would  ever  have  allowed  himself  to 
display  in  life. 

And  into  his  mind  came  many  memories  —  memories  that 
stirred  him  deeply.  He  was  thinking  of  the  days  when  he 
had  first  encountered  Bill  years  ago,  when  the  name  of  Wild 
Bill  was  a  terror  throughout  Texas  and  the  neighboring 
States.  And  he  smiled  as  he  remembered  how  a  perturbed 
Government  had  been  forced,  for  their  own  peace  of  mind, 
and  for  the  sake  of  the  peace  of  the  country,  to  put  this 
"  terror  "  on  the  side  of  law  and  order,  and  make  him  a 
sheriff  of  the  county.  And  then,  too,  he  remembered  the 
trouble  Bill  was  always  getting  into  through  mixing  up  his 
private  feuds  with  his  public  duties.  Still,  he  was  a  great 
sheriff,  and  never  was  such  order  kept  in  the  county. 

He  turned  again  to  the  man  at  his  side. 

"  An*  he  got  thro'  with  the  gold  ?  "  he  inquired  slowly. 

"  Jest  as  I  sed,"  retorted  the  weary  messenger.  "  Guess  I 
helped  sheriff  to  deposit  it  in  the  bank." 


THE  LUCK  OF  SCIPIO  361 

"And  he's  dead?" 

The  man  stirred  impatiently  and  spat. 

"  Dead  —  as  mutton." 

Minky  sighed. 

"An5  you  come  along  the  Spawn  City  trail?"  he  asked 
presently. 

"  I  ain't  got  wings." 

"An'  you  saw  —  ?" 

"  The  birds  flappin'  around  —  nigh  chokin'  with  human 
meat." 

The  man  laughed  cynically. 

"  Did  you  recognize  —  ?  " 

"  I  see  James.  He  was  dead  —  as  mutton,  too  —  an'  all 
his  gang.  Gee !  It  must  'a'  bin  a  hell  of  a  scrap." 

The  man  spat  out  a  stream  of  tobacco  juice  and  rubbed 
his  hands. 

"  It  sure  must,"  agreed  Minky.  And  he  passed  into  the 
store. 

It  was  dark  when  Scipio  urged  the  old  mule  up  the  bank 
at  the  fork  of  the  creek.  He  was  very  weary,  and  Jessie 
was  asleep  beside  him,  with  her  head  pillowed  upon  his 
shoulder.  His  arm  was  about  her,  supporting  her,  and  he 
sat  rigid,  lest  the  bumping  of  the  rattling  vehicle  should 
waken  her.  The  position  for  him  was  trying,  but  he  never 
wavered.  Cramped  and  weary  as  he  was,  he  strove  by  every 
means  in  his  power  to  leave  her  undisturbed. 

And  as  he  passed  the  river  three  ghostly  figures  ambled 
down  to  the  bank,  and,  after  drinking  their  horses,  likewise 
passed  over.  But  while  Scipio  kept  to  the  trail,  they  van- 
ished amidst  the  woods.  Their  task  was  over,  and  they 
sought  the  shortest  route  to  their  homes. 

And  so  Scipio  came  to  his  claim.  And  such  was  his  state 
of  mind,  so  was  he  taken  up  with  the  happiness  which  the 
presence  of  his  wife  beside  him  gave  him,  and  such  was  his 


362       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

delight  in  looking  forward  to  the  days  to  come,  that  he  saw 
nothing  of  that  which  lay  about  him. 

The  air  to  him  was  sweet  with  all  the  perfumes  his  thank- 
ful heart  inspired  in  his  thoughts.  His  road  was  a  path  of 
roses.  The  reek  of  oil  was  beyond  his  simple  ken.  Nor  did 
he  heed  the  slush,  slush  of  his  mule's  feet,  as  the  old  beast 
floundered  through  the  lake  of  oil  spread  out  on  all  sides 
about  him.  The  gurgling,  the  sadly  bubbling  gusher,  even, 
might  have  been  one  of  the  fairy  sounds  of  night,  for  all 
thought  he  gave  to  it. 

No ;  blind  to  all  things  practical  as  he  always  was,  how  was 
it  possible  that  Scipio,  leaving  Suffering  Creek  a  poor,  strug- 
gling prospector,  should  realize  by  these  outward  signs  that 
he  had  returned  to  it,  possibly,  a  millionaire  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

HOME 

SCIPIO  stood  in  the  doorway  of  his  hut  with  a  hopelessly 
dazed  look  in  his  pale  eyes  and  a  perplexed  frown  upon  his 
brow.  He  had'  just  returned  from  Minky's  store,  whither 
he  had  been  to  fetch  his  twins  home.  He  had  brought  them 
with  him,  leading  them,  one  in  each  hand.  And  at  sight  of 
their  mother  they  had  torn  themselves  free  from  their 
father's  detaining  hands  and  rushed  at  her. 

Jessie,  strangely  subdued,  but  with  a  wonderful  light  of 
happiness  in  her  eyes,  was  in  the  midst  of  "  turning  out "  the 
bedroom.  She  had  spent  the  whole  morning  cleaning  and 
garnishing  with  a  vigor,  with  a  heartwhole  enjoyment,  such 
as  never  in  all  her  married  life  had  she  displayed  before, 
And  now,  as  the  children  rushed  at  her,  their  piping  voices 
shrieking  their  joyous  greeting,  she  hugged  them  to  her 
bosom  as  though  she  would  squeeze  their  precious  lives  out 
of  them.  She  laughed  and  cried  at  the  same  time  in  a  way 
that  only  women  in  the  throes  of  unspeakable  joy  can.  Her 
words,  too,  were  incoherent,  as  incoherent  as  the  babble  of 
the  children  themselves.  It  was  a  sight  of  mother-love 
rarely  to  be  witnessed,  a  sight  which,  under  normal  condi- 
tions, must  have  filled  the  simple  heart  of  Scipio  with  a  joy 
and  happiness  quite  beyond  words. 

But  just  now  it  left  him  untouched,  and  as  he  silently 
looked  on  he  passed  one  hand  helplessly  across  his  forehead. 
He  pushed  his  hat  back  so  that  his  stubby  fingers  could  rake 
amongst  his  yellow  hair.  And  Jessie,  suddenly  looking  up 
from  the  two  heads  nestling  so  close  against  her  bosom, 


364       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

realized  the  trouble  in  her  husband's  face.  Her  realization 
came  with  a  swiftness  that  would  have  been  impossible  in 
those  old  days  of  discontent. 

"  Why,  Zip,"  she  cried,  starting  to  her  feet  and  coming 
quickly  towards  him,  "  what  —  what's  the  matter  ?  What's 
wrong  ?  " 

But  the  little  man  only  shook  his  head  dazedly,  and  his 
eyes  wandered  from  her  face  to  the  two  silently  staring  chil- 
dren, and  then  to  the  table  so  carefully  laid  for  the  midday 
meal. 

"  Here,  sit  down,"  Jessie  hurried  on,  darting  towards  a 
chair  and  setting  it  for  him  beside  the  stove.  "  You're  sick, 
sure,"  she  declared,  peering  into  his  pale  face,  as  he  silently, 
almost  helplessly,  obeyed  her.  "  It's  the  sun,"  she  went  on. 
"  That's  what  it  is  —  driving  in  the  sun  all  yesterday.  It's 

—  it's  been  too  much  for  you." 

Again  the  man  passed  a  hand  across  his  brow.  But  this 
time  he  shook  his  head. 

"'Tain't  the  sun,  Jess,"  he  said  vaguely.  "It's  — it's 
oil!" 

For  a  moment  the  woman  stared.  Then  she  turned  to  the 
gaping  twins,  and  hustled  them  out  of  the  room  to  play. 
Poor  Zip's  head  had  suddenly  gone  wrong,  she  believed, 
and  — 

But  as  she  came  back  from  the  door  she  found  that  he  had 
risen  from  the  chair  in  which  she  had  set  him,  and  was  stand- 
ing looking  at  her,  and  through  her,  and  beyond  her,  as 
though  she  were  not  there  at  all.  And  in  an  instant  she  was 
at  his  side,  with  an  arm  thrown  protectingly  about  his 
shoulders. 

"  Tell  me,  Zip  —  oh,  tell  me,  dear,  what's  wrong?     Surely 

—  surely,  after  all  that  has  gone —    Oh,  tell  me!     Don't 
keep  me  in  suspense.     Is  —  is  it  James  ?  "  she  finished  up  in 
a  terrified  whisper. 

The  mention  of  that  detested  name  had  instant  effect. 


HOME  365 

Scipio's  face  cleared,  and  the  dazed  look  of  his  eyes  vanished 
as  if  by  magic.  He  shook  his  head. 

"  James  is  dead,"  he  said  simply.  And  Jessie  breathed  a 
sigh  of  such  relief  that  even  he  observed  it,  and  it  gladdened 
him.  "  Yes/'  he  went  on,  "  James  is  sure  dead.  Wild  Bill 
done  him  up  and  his  whole  gang.  But  Bill's  gone,  too." 

"  Bill,  too  ?  "  Jessie  murmured. 

Scipio  nodded ;  and  perplexity  stole  over  his  face  again. 

"  Yes.  I  —  I  don't  seem  to  understand.  Y'see,  he  done 
James  up,  an' — an'  James  done  him  up  —  sort  o'  mutual. 
Y'see,  they  told  me  the  rights  of  it,  but  —  but  ther's  so  many 
things  I  —  I  don't  seem  to  got  room  for  them  all  in  my 
head.  It  seems,  too,  that  Bill  had  quite  a  piece  of  money. 
An'  he's  kind  of  given  it  to  the  kids.  I  —  I  don't  — " 

"  How  much  ?  "  demanded  the  practical  feminine. 

"  Seventy  thousand  dollars,"  replied  the  bewildered  man. 

"  Seventy  thou  —    Who  told  you  ?  " 

"Why  — Minky.  Said  he'd  got  it  all.  But  — but  that 
ain't  the  worst." 

"Worst?" 

Jessie  was  smiling  now  —  smiling  with  that  motherly,  pro- 
tecting confidence  so  wonderfully  womanly. 

Scipio  nodded;  and  his  eyes  sought  hers  for  encourage- 
ment. 

"  Ther's  the  oil,  millions  an'  millions  of  it  —  gallons,  I 
mean." 

"  Oil  ?  Millions  of  gallons  ?  Oh,  Zip,  do  —  do  be  sen- 
sible." 

Jessie  stood  before  him,  and  his  worried  look  seemed  to 
have  found  a  reflection  upon  her  handsome  face.  » 

"  It  isn't  me.  It  ain't  my  fault.  It  sure  ain't,  Jess,"  he 
declared  wistfully.  "  I've  seen  it.  It's  there.  My  pore 
claim's  jest  drowned  with  it.  I'll  never  find  that  gold  now 
—  not  if  I  was  to  pump  a  year.  It's  just  bubbling  up  an'  up 
out  o'  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  an' —  an'  Minky  says  I'll  have 


366       THE  TWINS  OF  SUFFERING  CREEK 

to  set  up  pumps  an'  things,  an'  he's  goin'  to  help  me.  So  is 
Sunny  Oak,  an'  Toby,  an'  Sandy,  an'  he  sez  we'll  find  the 
gold  sure  if  we  pump  the  oil.  Sez  it's  there,  an'  I'll  be  rich 
as  Rockefeller  an'  all  them  millionaires.  But  I  can't  seem  to 
see  it,  if  the  gold's  drownded  in  that  messy,  smelly  oil. 
Maybe  you  ken  see.  You're  quicker'n  me.  You  — " 

But  Jessie  never  let  him  finish. 

"  Oil  ?  "  she  cried,  her  eyes  swimming  with  tears  of  joy 
and  gentle  affection  for  the  simple  soul  so  incapable  of  grasp- 
ing anything  but  his  own  single  purpose.  "  Oil  ?  "  she  cried. 
"  Oh,  Zip,  don't  you  understand  ?  Don't  you  see  ?  It's  oil 

—  coal-oil.     You've  been  searching  for  gold  and  found  oil. 
And  there's  millions  of  dollars  in  coal-oil." 

But  the  little  man's  face  dropped. 

"  Seems  a  pity,"  he  said  dispiritedly.  "  I  could  V  swore 
ther'  was  gold  there  —  I  sure  could.  I'd  have  found  it,  too 

—  if  the  oil  hadn't  washed  us  out.     Bill  thought  so,  too ;  an' 
Bill  was  right  smart.     Guess  we'll  find  it,  though,  after  we 
pumped  the  oil." 

Suddenly  the  woman  reached  out  both  arms  and  laid  her 
hands  upon  his  diminutive  shoulders.  Her  eyes  had  grown 
very  tender. 

"  Zip,"  she  cried  gently,  "  Zip,  I  think  God  has  been  very 
good  to  me.  He's  been  kinder  to  me  than  He  has  been  to 
you.  You  deserve  His  goodness;  I  don't.  And  yet  He's 
given  me  a  man  with  a  heart  of  —  of  gold.  He's  given  me 
a  man  whose  love  I  have  trampled  under- foot  and  flung 
away.  He's  given  me  a  man  who,  by  his  own  simple  hon- 
esty, his  goodness,  has  shown  me  the  road  to  perfect  happi- 
ness. He's  given  me  all  this  in  return  for  a  sin  that  can 
never  be  wiped  out  — " 

But  suddenly  Scipio  freed  himself  from  the  gentle  grasp 
of  her  restraining  hands,  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Don't  you  —  don't  you  to  say  it,  Jess,"  he  cried,  all  his 
great  love  shining  in  his  eyes.  His  perplexity  and  regret 


HOME  367 

were  all  gone  now,  and  only  had  he  thought  of  his  love. 
"  Don't  you  to  say  nuthin'  against  yourself.  You're  my  wife 
—  my  Jessie.  An'  as  long  as  I've  got  life  I  don't  want 
nothin'  else  —  but  my  Jessie.  Say,  gal,  I  do  love  you." 

"  And  —  and  —  oh,  if  you  can  only  believe  me,  Zip,  I  love 
you." 

The  man  reached  up  and  drew  the  woman's  face  down  to 
his,  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

"  It  don't  matter  'bout  not  finding  that  gold  now,"  he 
cried,  and  kissed  her  again. 

"No,  it— " 

"  Say,  momma,  ain't  it  dinner  yet  ?  " 

"  Ess,  me  want  din-din." 

The  man  and  woman  sprang  guiltily  apart  before  the 
wondering  eyes  of  their  children,  and  the  next  moment  both 
of  the  small  creatures  were  caught  up  and  hugged  in  loving 
arms. 

"  Why,  sure,  kiddies,"  cried  Scipio,  his  face  wreathed  in 
happy  smiles.  "  Momma's  got  dinner  all  fixed  —  so  come 
right  along." 


THE  END 


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